Out of Avalon

March 31st, 2008 by Ascelyn

This weekend was almost entirely unproductive.  Well, not entirely.  I cleaned the bedroom and folded the multiple baskets of clean laundry sitting around the room.  Hey, I even ironed the non-t-shirt stuff before I hung it up!  That’s love, right there.  I’m probably the worst ironer out there, adding more (nicely pressed) creases than I take out.  It took me literally all night to iron my NROTC uniform in 2004, and I haven’t gotten any better since.

I have Jason talked into helping me put in an herb garden just off the deck outside the kitchen.  We borrowed my dad’s truck to pick up the boards on Friday with hopes to build it on Saturday.  Unfortunately, Lowes only carries pressure-treated landscaping timbers.  The main alternative was cedar, which was beautiful but absurdly expensive.  I’m currently looking into the chemicals used to pressure treat lumber, and it seems that the inorganic arsenic is the main problem.  It looks like it should be okay if I can’t find an alternative.  There are some nice alternatives out there, too, but probably not in this area.  We’re going to see if a friend’s brothers can get us some locally-grown locust wood for a good price.

I didn’t get to start my seeds Friday evening as I had planned.  Not Saturday, either, and Sunday was taken up by church, lunch with friends, and cleaning.  I got to spend lots of time with J over the weekend, though, which was great.

This week will be pretty crazy, even though I think work will be kind of slow.  I need to tutor chem at least twice this week, make Aaron’s birthday gift, scrub the house for the Western Reaches thing Saturday, get my garden stuff started and put together a compost bin, sort out some insurance issues, and find enough pallets or a source of cheap wood for the kids’ activity on Saturday (mini medieval herb gardens).  At least I’ll keep busy, which is the best possible thing I could be doing right now, but there will be so much downtime at work that I think it’s going to be a double-edged sword.  Too much time to think here, too much time to wish I was another person in another place.  At the same time, I’m itching to get home and get to work on things I actually need to have done before the end of the week.

If you’ve seen the movie Mirrormask, you’ll remember Helena and others running from those grasping, hunting black tendrils of shadow.  That’s how I feel lately.  Still alive, still whole, but always on the run.  Sometimes I’ll be able to hide myself away–in the company of others, in my work and activities, in books–but sooner or later I’ll be forced back outside and the hunt will continue.  Shadows will sneak around corners in unexpected places, taking me off guard.  I loose my balance and can’t run as fast or as straight, and sometimes they’ll catch me because of it.  Eventually it all comes crashing down, and there I sit, huddled in a corner with my knees drawn up close, as the shadows surround me.  I feel so helpless that I don’t even bother to get up before I’m plunged into darkness.

I’m not depressed now, but is it only a matter of time?

March 28th, 2008 by Ascelyn

Usually if I don’t write it’s because I’ve been down.  As I’ve mentioned before, when that’s the case, I feel like I ought to explain it, and that’s just not a good idea.  The vast majority of my writing is done at work due to the internet lackage at the house, and I have no desire to have my boss walk in on me in tears during my lunch break.

This time, though, I’ve just been busy.  Without violating any security regs or saying precisely what I do at work, I’ll just mention that a certain item we’re now needing to use has a 48-hour shelf life.  That’s just two days between the time when I make the stuff to the time the part has to be finished and in the oven, and it takes every waking moment of about 46 of those 48 hours to accomplish all that needs to be done.  There is very little sitting during that time, and it’s a killer on my joints.  It also contains a known teratogen, again as mentioned previously, which means I automatically don’t like it.

But that’s okay, because this month is not The Month.  A few hours before I was planning on taking a test and having real hopes of seeing those two little lines, it was decided.  I’m not pregnant.

I really did accomplish a good bit in the last few weeks, though.  My shoes are finished, and the wood for my pattens is cut.  We didn’t have a drill bit small enough to predrill the holes for the tacks I’d hoped to use, and they looked like they were going to be too short to hold the leather tightly to the wood anyway.  I made a new, smaller veil from muslin and liked its drape immensely, so I’ll eventually make one from fine linen when I can get my hands on any.  I gave up for the time being on perfecting my stocking pattern and made a pair in a soft yellow linen-cotten blend.  They’re a little too big in the foot, so the fabric folds a bit just behind my heel.  I’ll fix that before I make another pair, but they’re certainly functional.  I also made a sleeveless shift from muslin, which eventually I’ll copy into linen.  For now, though, muslin works just fine for my skin layer.

I learned a new way of doing the broad round fingerloop braid and a broad lace of five bowes at the collegium.  Squee!  I’m hoping that will set me on the right track to some of the others I have printed from fingerloop.org.  Since the chirurgeons who were supposed to be at the event didn’t show up (again), I spent the day playing with my new drop spindle.  For less than a dollar’s worth of dowel and hook and some leftover wood from my pattens, the thing works like a dream.  I spun three little balls of my own short-staple white wool, which ended up relatively thick but very soft, and a ball of beautifully colored grey/brown mix that Ed had with him.  It was a longer staple, which I couldn’t handle when I first tried at the fiber get-together over the winter, but which allowed me to spin a very fine thread during court at the collegium.  I’ve been looking around to see if I can get any wool locally, but due to the area’s refusal to put anything online, I’ve had no luck.  Maybe 4H would know, but I think I’ll just go to the Sheep & Wool festival on May 3 instead.

I’m working on garden plans.  I’d like to have a small raised-bed herb garden finally in place this year.  All but two of my planters have cracked, including all the pretty ones.  The chives don’t seem to care and have sprung back up regardless.  Several people have offered me cuttings, and even strawberry, onion, garlic, and potato sets from Eadric, so I need a place to put them.  Starting my seedlings and hopefully getting some building done are my weekend goals, along with a compost bin.  So exciting!  I’m still in my scheming phase–more coming soon on possibilities and likelihoods.

March 20th, 2008 by Ascelyn

My sister-in-law just called.  She wanted to know if I was able to hem stretchy pants; she just picked up some new maternity clothes, and they’re too long.  I was informed yesterday that she’s pregant again, though not overly enthused about it.  No problem, I said.  I know the feeling.  Short people of the world unite!

I feel vaguely like crying, but I’m at work.  At this point, it’s more of a numbness anyway.  I’ve grown accustomed to that swelling feeling of panic–like everything is concurrently swelling and constricting.  It starts in your diaphragm, and by the time it reaches your throat, it’s choking you.  Your throat is closing off!  Your tongue is too big for your mouth!  Your eyes, burning from lack of oxygen…but wait, those are only tears.  There’s nothing wrong with you.  It’s all in your head.

It’s awfully lonely in here.

Everything seems to remind me lately of just how flawed my body has turned out to be so far.  Half the females I know seem to be pregnant, while the rest have young children.  I’m ever so happy for some of them, while others I secretly envy.  So much for all those worries when I missed pills do to scheduling and the pharmacy!  I’ve been off them for nearly a year and still haven’t recovered.  Taking my temperature, at least knowing if never controlling, is the one thing that could possibly force me to set the alarm for 6:30 on a Saturday morning.  The one thing except for, of course, a child.

A friend, the one person I know who would understand me even if I cannot even begin to understand her own pain, recently posted in her own blog that she feels the need to be in control at all times.  She explained beautifully how that related to her own journey toward motherhood.  I personally stop short of needing to have control, but I have a driving need to understand things.  To order them in my mind, to fully comprehend the hows and whys.  But then, maybe it is an issue of control after all.  If I can dig into the guts of a thing, tear it apart and put it back together in a way that makes sense, I gain a measure of control.  To know a thing is to be able to twist it to your will.

I need to know why my body isn’t behaving, even if I’ll never be able to force it to do so.  Only when I understand can I truly be at peace.  What’s more, I potentially can force at least parts of my body to behave.  There are drugs and procedures and endless cold metal tables.  I don’t think I want that.

If I can’t have children, I’m perfectly okay with it.  I spent the majority of my life convinced I’d never be married, and in my book, that means no children of my own.  I was already looking into state laws regarding adoption by single people, though.  Jason wants to have children of his own, but is okay with the idea of adoption as well.  If that’s the route we’re supposed to go, that’s fine.  I just need to know that.

How do I know if I’ve always had issues like this?  I don’t think I did, but how do I know?  Was it caused by the pills–in which case things might eventually resolve themselves–or is it something inherent in me?  I need to understand so I can move on.  So I can make decisions.  So I can be in control.

At lunch with our pastor and his wife and another couple on Sunday, I was asked quite plainly when we planned to have kids.  We barely know the man!  I didn’t say a word, just stared at my glass and blanked my mind to force out the welling emotions. Jason tried to steer the topic elsewhere, giving an innocous enough answer, but he persisted.  We left soon after.  I wanted to either give him a stern talking-to (the man’s nearly old enough to be my father) or break down in tears.  That’s pretty much the extent of my emotions anymore–depression vs. rage.  There’s not much middle ground, though both are firmly rooted in frustration.  Happiness comes when I’m forced to put on a front for others.

“Frustrated” pretty much sums up my life now.  I’m too frustrated to do anything productive, so I try to keep my hands busy.  If my mind is focused on not putting a needle through my finger or falling off a ladder, it’s hard to feel any emotion at all.  Eventually comes satisfaction, and those moments are the best I can find for now.  Not happiness by way of joy, but from a job well done.

In the meantime, I come across such helpful web sites as this one on MSN Health & Fitness.  The most winning quote of the short article:

“Healthy bodies allow you to have a baby, and healthy bodies produce healthy babies,” says Jill Blakeway, a licensed acupuncturist and fertility specialist based in New York City. “It’s really not rocket science.”

Thank you, Ms. Blakeway!  I’m sure the women around the world having trouble conceiving never considered quitting the drugs and eating healthy foods before spending tens of thousands of dollars in doctors’ offices.

Certainly not me.  I’m young and relatively healthy.  “Relative” refers simply to being a little to flexible for my joints’ liking and having mild allergies.  I stopped my long-term allergy meds and stocked up on tissues long ago lest they damage some bundle of cells one day destined to be my child.  I rarely even take psuedophedrine anymore.  I do take prenatal vitamins, extra calcium, extra folic acid, and fish oil for omega-3s every day.  I eat pretty healthily.  I try to exercise.  I’ve never smoked, drank, or done drugs.  I drink green tea occasionally, which does have some caffeine, but not enough to matter at this point.  So why can’t I have a baby of my own?

My pregnant coworker’s across the aisle telling someone how excited she is to find out the baby’s gender Saturday.  I’m going to go keep busy getting ready for the kids at church tonight and–you guessed it–try not to cry.

March 3rd, 2008 by Ascelyn

The house is clean.  That is, the main level of the house is clean.  The upstairs has not been touched, and the basement is still a construction zone.  And by “is,” I really mean “was.”

After sporadic cleaning over the last week, I finished everything but the dusting on Saturday and vacuumed on Sunday in time for the Western Reaches moot.  Unfortunately, there are now small muddy footprints throughout the kitchen and living room, and the area of the loft I use as my workshop/SCA storage has been torn apart by little hands.

I’m paying for even my temporary cleanliness, though.  My allergies started acting up a bit at work last week while dusting and sweeping in preparation for the big 5S review, and by the time I was done banishing the absurd amount of cat hair Saturday evening, things were heading quickly downhill.  By yesterday evening, I was desparately seeking something to make my brains stop oozing out of my head through my nasal passages.  By noon today, I had looked up the lifetime of pseudoephedrine in the bloodstream and was on my way to the local pharamacy.

Maybe I’m paranoid.  After all, I’m not pregnant.  I might not be for quite some time.  Pseudoephedrine was long considered safe during pregnancy anyway, although that opinion has changed lately.  But when my nervous little brain starts thinking in terms of how long a drug will stay in my system, and when I might conceive, and what damage it might cause…it’s just ridiculous!  It’s impossible that I’m carrying a child right now (but I might be soon?) and the meds won’t stay in my system that long anyway (but if they do?!).

I need Nyquil.  I need to sleep.  I’ve gone through literally 3/4 of a box of tissues today; my previously empty trash can is full of them.  My hands are hating me for all the hand sanitizer I’ve been using, but I don’t want to leave germs around where others–especially the girl in the office who is pregnant–might pick them up.  I’m not contagious.  Really!

I’m just allergic to cleaning.