New plan

OK. The current plan is melting. It is time for a new plan.


Plan A: Move to Alaska and become crazy bear lady like old Timmy (but a girl, obviously). I may well die a horrifying death due to own stupidity, but will at least leave a nice frozen corpse for people to find.

Plan B: Join a soccer team and convince someone to fly us over the Andes and crash spectacularly. I may well die a horrifying death but will at least leave a nice frozen corpse for the sustenance of others. Will be especially pleased if said 'others' are nice and good-looking like Ethan Hawke.

Plan C: Become bazillionaire and get lost in the wilderness with Alec Baldwin. I may well die a horrifying death by bear-mauling (again) but will at least be quite chilly when all is said and done.

There is also a distinct possibility of moving to Alaska to become funky independent female pilot. May well die a horrifying death due to lack of pilot's license, but can wear nice fluffy anoraks and fall in love with local DJ.

These are the new plans.

Too many cigarettes

Yes, I am smoking again. Screw you if you have opinions on this.
It has been 4 weeks since D-Day and no AF. No hormone levels checked, no nothing.
I have been swimming out fury every day at Lawson pool. I checked out a website with the search criteria 'How much weight can I lose + swimming?' It said basically none. All the 'studies' have shown that you need to do weights too.
So, -it's 36 degrees and Walking/Jogging seems a little silly. I swim a kilometre and it does....nothing (apart from keeping me cool).
In addition, I'm being royally screwed by my 'parent theatre company'...oh don't worry, it's all 'mistakes' and 'circumstance' but F.U.C.K!!! I have worked so hard for the last three months to see this thing happen. Being screwed with right now is just downright FUCKED.
Mind you, -yet another shining example of why people don't need to give a damn unless you make them shitloads of money..magically.
3 days post D & C I was sitting in 40 degree heat painting sets in the riff. But it isn't nearly enough for the would-be corporate machine.
Mr has been forging forth with future venue negotiations, but I wonder who will benefit in the long run? Never mind. It's late and I should try to sleep before the world outside heats up like Dante's Inferno.
Plans? I will swim tomorrow at 6.30pm. That's about all my brain can handle.

Therapy

You know what? I'm very very angry.
I went to a counselling session and discovered this.
I am angry at my useless body.
I am angry at the medical system that 'decides' that unless you've had at least two miscarriages,-it aint worth testing as to why. Cos, yeah. Why not put a woman through MORE grief. One miscarriage is obviously just par for the course. We should have at least two before we start getting upset.
I'm angry at Katoomba hospital emergency. I went up there bleeding and in distress and they admitted me straight away, but then left me sitting for THREE HOURS. No doc, no nurse, no nothing. Oh, I lie, -the triage kept on popping in to let us know that we were 'next'......for three hours.
I am angry at the woman I met inadvertently the other day who was drinking a schooner, smoking a cigarette and complained that she was 'pissed off' that she was pregnant again.
I am angry at friends and relatives that insist on comforting me with jesus platitudes, even though I have made it clear that this is not my belief. 'Your baby is safe and whole in the arms of jesus'....like I needed reminding that it would be disintegrated, rent apart, vaccumed out.
I am angry at Mr. The house remained a sty while I was on 'bed rest'. It got cleaned when I was sans pregnancy.
I am angry at my mum for telling all and sundry about my news. This has meant an enormous amount of explaining to people and dealing with 'you're showing!' (no,-just fat), 'bet you won't be able to keep this work up' (you'd be surprised) and various other indignities.
I am angry with fate. The most useless anger of all.
I have been advised to externalise the anger so it doesn't eat me alive. I should paint, write, swim like a demon. Trouble is, I don't want to.
The other joyous thing about personal nastiness is the magnificent distance of 'friends'-I get it though. I get the 'too hard basket'.
I am very very angry at myself and my judas body most of all. There is no history of MC in my family. I would have to be the groundbreaker. So great. Where do I go from here?

Rik and such

Well, kids shows certainly keep me busy and preoccupied. We've had two weekends of record audiences and lots of jolly punters. I have been quite busy organising front of house and generally doing what no one else in the company seems available to do.

Mr got quite huffy and demanded that someone else take the load off my shoulders, but so far the response has been lukewarm.

Fair enough. It's not their tragedy.

It takes big moments to sort out who gives a shit either way.

So now it's very very late and I should be sleeping, but I seem to have manic energy closely followed by extreme exhaustion. I'd get drunk but there's no one to get drunk with. Everyone else has important stuff to do too.

Quite amazing this life. You can weep your soul out and get a wee pat from others. You can have a minor tragedy and receive dozens of offers of help.

I think I may advertise a minor tragedy and see if I can turn it all around for my own sake.

Weird times. This morning I cleaned old prawn heads and watched a hungover groom attack a colleague. I also carried heavy flats and talked about shopping for vibrators. I smiled lots and lots and kept my wound hidden.

I wil continue to do this, although I'm not convinced it is the healthiest way to deal with stuff.