i don’t want to go to work today. it’s beautiful out: rainy, foggy, green grass greener than the crayon in my box. the wind is blowing, but it’s still warm enough to have the windows open.
this is a day for writing, and imagination. this is a day for creativity, inspiration, and a long nap with a kitty and a mushed up pillow. this isn’t a day to be indoors with grumpy patrons and testy people who only want you for an ear to bend about their list of life long problems. this isn’t a day for weird people who alter your energy because they are from another galaxy far away and have been sent here to warn the earth about impending doom because we haven’t been drinking the right kind of water.
this is a snuggly day, for peace and relaxation and … snuggling. not work.
damn i hate mondays.
What does the sperm say to the egg?
Today my sister and I were making fun of me. It’s one of our favorite pastimes, and in case this sounds self deprecating (sometimes true) it wasn’t; I find it healthy to laugh at myself from time to time. And anyway, everyone else laughs at me so I might as well join the fun!
I’m getting older, and lately you would think I was trying to get pregnant; my hair is growing faster, my notoriously short fingernails are noticeably longer and now I find I actually have to file the buggers, and my girly cycle has changed; sped up. Bodhi joked that I’m reaching the last possible windows of opportunity for pregnancy, so my body is just shooting eggs out of me like a machine gun…pap pap pap. Come on, make a baby, pap pap pap.
It reminded us of an episode of the Bachelor, when the bachelor had just met all his possible future ex-wives, and one girl stood out among the rest. Professional. Dark hair. Short and tiny, like a cute little thing should be. Not that she was all that cute, but if a guy wants a pocket wife, she would do. They seemed a perfectly likely pair, in her eyes, because she worked in the medical field, and he was…I don’t know, handsome? She said something to him that went kind of like: “ok, so my eggs are going to waste and I’ve got to get started if I want to have a kid, so…what do you think?” Now of course, this is a paraphrase, but she really did talk about her eggs going to waste, or shriveling, or something horrendously awkward when you are talking to a man you are trying to convince into dating you. No hand holding; no snuggling; just gimme the sperm so I can be a mommy already.
This led us into wonderment over the female womb and internals. Perhaps if it’s been a long time since the last sexual partner the female doorway to heaven creaks open noisily, like a haunted house in a Vincent Price movie, begrudgingly letting someone through the threshold and into the dark wonders. Creak…creak…
Are there cobwebs? Do the little sperms have to fight their way around dust bunnies and spider webs, desperately looking for the little egg he is so eager to find?
Does it echo in there? “HELLO!” the sperm shouts into the vast, empty darkness. “HeLLo” “Hello” “hello”. *sigh* He should have brought a sack lunch and a bottle of water; this looks to be a long journey…