Yesssssss

I'm pregnant! and delighted.

And, now that I know it for sure, having a hard time thinking about anything else.

Update

I saw the curious pair again tonight when my husband and I went to the grocery store. He was standing in the same place as before; as before, she came out and joined him when she had done her shopping, and they walked off together. This time, instead of a mask the guy had on sunglasses that covered up more than half his face, and a black bandanna over his head. My husband thinks the guy is at least in his thirties. I can never judge ages, especially men's ages; but this time I noticed the guy had stubble on his jawline, so maybe he is older than I thought. I bet they are sleeping in the haunted house down the block - they headed off in that direction.

A Curious Pair

A couple weeks ago when I walked into the grocery store, there was a guy standing in the entryway next to the shopping baskets. He was young, maybe even in his late teens, with a huge backpack on his back, so huge it bulged out comically. It looked like it weighed about as much as he did. He had three or four other bags around his feet. He was standing with his feet braced apart, gazing off into the middle distance. The most striking thing about him was that he had a mask over his eyes, a strip of black cloth with holes cut out for the eyes, tied at the back of his head. He was like a cartoon robber. I made a wide circuit around him, but he was just standing there, not doing anything, and he was still just standing there when I left.

Then a few days ago I walked into the same store and he was there again, in the same place, with the same giant bag. This time, as I left he was walking out ahead of me, and there was a girl with him about his age. She was wearing a miniskirt over leggings and was loaded down with bags too. They shambled off together. Suddenly I wondered if they were runaways, hiding out together. He guards the bags while she does the shopping. Then they go back to their camp - are they sleeping in the park? or at the rundown house where no one lives, halfway down the block? Are they hiding from her parents? I would have liked to say something, find out their story and help them if I could, but there was something proud and self-sufficient about the pair, about the tone of her voice as she talked to him (though I wasn't close enough to hear what she said) and I was afraid to approach them. Now I wonder if I'll see them again.

A Place to Hide Away

I wish I had more privacy. Sometimes I just want to crawl away into a corner and sit still until the dizziness and weakness passes, but I have to keep sitting at my desk and responding cheerily when people talk to me, and acting like nothing's wrong. It's so hard. I wish I had an office where I could close the door. I would totally lie down under my desk.

At a job I had a few years ago, I felt so awful one day that I crept away to a different part of the building that was under construction. There was no one there; the work was being done at night. I found a corner and lay down among the sheetrock dust and tattered plastic, and just lay there, breathing, until the feeling passed. It was eerie, watching the breeze lift the plastic, looking at the blue sky through a gap in the rafters above me. I could hear phones ringing in the other part of the building. My big fear was that someone would wander past and see me there. Finally I felt well enough to get up and go back to my desk.

At school, there was always a nurse's office with beds where you could go and lie down if you needed to. I wish offices had those too.

The Essential Confrontation

Over and over, I see this confrontation:

A thin, dark-eyed, passionate kind of girl, arguing against animal cruelty or for consumer rights, gun control, women's right to choose, carbon emissions control, immigration rights, etc.
Versus
A heavyset, scowling, florid-faced man, often with a handlebar mustache, arguing from the opposite perspective and often from an industry or business point of view.

I've seen it so often that it's starting to feel like all basic conflicts can be boiled down into this stereotype. It's all about individual freedom of choice, versus producers' control of the marketplace. Biodiversity and species' "right to exist", versus the desires of humans to expand their access to natural resources and improve their economic outlook. Idealism versus pragmatism. Compassion versus greed. Urban versus rural. Education versus experience. Both are sincere, unshakeably entrenched in their convictions. It would be a stalemate, except that the man is always the one with the power. He listens, arms crossed, his scowl deepening, but he doesn't have to do anything to change, and he won't. The girl can rail at him all day and he'll never change - even if it made sense for him to, just to spite her, he won't.

Bearin' Arms

On the bus this morning I noticed a little placard with vertical letters fixed by the window. It read:

K
E
E
P
A
R
M
I
N

It seemed like an odd message for the transportation department to be promoting. Keep armin'? Surely they don't want their passengers to be armed? But then I thought it might be a friendly little reminder that they know their audience. It's like they're saying, "We know you're armed, so go ahead, we're cool with it." ...like the ambulances that have "Keepin' It Safe" printed on their sides, to help them look like they're in touch with the community. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to laugh, until I almost chuckled out loud. I wonder if anyone else ever reads it that way.

Scavenging

One of the families in my building is always throwing away stuff - often pretty good stuff - in the recycling bin in the stairwell. I think they go through the kids' rooms and purge every weekend, because there are always kids' clothes, toys, and games in there on Monday mornings. Sometimes I pick the stuff out and save it to donate, because I can't stand to see it thrown away. There are household items like lamps, picture frames, drying racks, toasters, and books. Once I got a nice jigsaw puzzle. Last week there was a good laundry basket - the kind with mesh walls that folds flat. Then a few days ago, there was a big bag full of shoes, kids' shoes and women's shoes. The women's shoes are a half-size too big for me but I'm still keeping a few pairs (maybe I'll grow into them? That bunion gets bigger every day). They're barely worn at all. Now I don't have to go shoe-shopping!

Early Bird

This morning I accidentally got ready for work early. I got up at the regular time, got dressed, ate breakfast, fixed my lunch, and then realized I still had 45 minutes before I had to catch the bus. I don't know what happened there. Maybe it was just the magical effect of actually getting out of bed when the alarm went off, instead of repeatedly hitting snooze. Anyway, no point being dressed when I didn't have to be, so I got undressed and went back to bed for half an hour. I still ended up at work early - d'oh!

Worries

I think I may have gotten what I wanted. It's probably too soon to say. But now that the possibility at least is there, I'm suddenly filled with fear.

The General Rallies His Troops, Wide-Screen Version

A bunch of churches in the area were showing free screenings of An Inconvenient Truth, which I hadn't seen before, so I went to see it last Friday. I chose the least churchy of the churches, a non-denominational "forum for people who believe in good" but don't worship a particular deity. Basically, atheists who worry about stuff. It's a nice group of people, I've gone to a few of their meetings before.

The movie was really powerful. It was based on the slideshow that I saw Gore give last year, with some added footage of glaciers breaking up, Katrina devastation, etc. The scene where the Larsen B ice shelf broke up and vanished into the Antarctic Ocean was particularly affecting. The ice shelf was so huge that scientists studying it assumed it would be there for centuries - but it broke up in a matter of days. I heard people around me gasping. One woman said, "Jesus." Another watching the glacier crumble said, "My God." In times of extremity, I guess even atheists reach for those familiar words to express their shock and sorrow.

Hole-Puncher Happiness

It is a truth universally acknowledged that it's more fulfilling to do things that are meaningful - like drafting policy, or negotiating contracts, or participating in coalitions - than it is to do the little maintaining-the-status-quo tasks that keep everything else running smoothly. Even my inner critic gives me a kick in the pants now and then, reminding me I should be moving up in the world. But the types of things I enjoy, honestly, are often really little things. It actually makes me happy to empty the hole puncher when it's all clogged up with punches, and put it back on the shelf clean and functional again. Or process the time sheets and file them away in the binder so if I ever need to look something up, I can do it at a moment's notice. Or fix up a document that's cluttered with spelling and formatting problems. What's wrong with me? I should want to WRITE the document, not fix it up! I should have my mind on higher things than the hole puncher. I am not supposed to enjoy those things. No one else around here does.

Yet the types of jobs that I yearn toward instinctively, for a moment or two, are often organizational and delivery jobs, like bike courier or mailroom clerk. I even wondered if it would be fun to work at the Department of Motor Vehicles (ditched that idea when it was finally my turn at the counter, and the girl who served me was so zombie-like and miserable she barely even made eye contact with me).

I think that deep down, part of the appeal is that those jobs are so clear-cut and simple, you can do them perfectly. You can deliver the envelope to the right address, and it's done, and no one could have done it better. Jobs that use more brain cells tend to be more subjective and there are lots of ways to go wrong, and you're never really done. Even if you think you are, part of your job is to keep coming up wtih fresh ideas and new ways to implement things. I love being creative, but on my own time - having it a job requirement makes me anxious.

So the goal of the decade, or one of them I think, is for me to come to terms with this aspect of my nature and find something I can do that is both satisfying to me in all the little ways, and also worthwhile in a larger sense, and also pays the bills, and also allows me to have self-respect and not mind telling other people about what I do. Cripes. That's probably most people's goal for their whole lives, and I doubt more than a small percentage ever achieve it.

Punnett Square

People who are beautiful are doubly blessed, I think, because they go through life seeing constant approval in the eyes of everyone around them. It should be easy for them to be confident - everyone is ready to say "yes" to them before they've even asked the question. People who aren't beautiful have it doubly hard, because they have to develop strength and personality to make up for their looks - and do so in a vacuum, with approval grudgingly given. What's interesting to me is the people who buck the trend - beautiful people who somehow don't realize it and end up shy, and not-so-beautiful people who have confidence to spare.

Being a Dork

I hope I never outgrow the kind of dorky helplessness that makes postal clerks call me "baby". I'd rather be nice than righteous, any day of the week.

Doing Your Best

In third grade we learned a song that went like this:

When I first came to this land,
I was not a wealthy man,
But I bought myself a farm,
And I did what I could.

And I called my farm Muscle in My Arm
But the land was sweet and good,
And I did what I could.

The song goes through numerous verses where he acquires a livestock, a wife, etc., giving ironic names to everything (the cow is named No Milk Now, the horse is Worse and Worse). It always bothered me a little that he names his wife as though she is another of his animals (Trouble and Strife) - and she apparently doesn't get a say in that. But what I liked about the song was its confidence that it is possible to do all you can - that you can set yourself this simple goal, accomplish it each day, and go to bed knowing you did what you could. If only life were that simple. In reality, how can you ever know you are actually doing all that you can? Maybe you could be earning more money in a different job. Or being a better person by taking evening classes or going to bluegrass concerts. Or making more friends at the corner coffeeshop. Or staying in better touch with the ones you have. Or learning to knit. Or spending time shopping for the perfect birthday present that will really make your husband happy. Or giving more to charitable organizations. Or getting more exercise. You can always do more, though it will always be at the expense of something else, and it's all about setting priorities and pushing yourself in directions you don't want to go. I would like to get up every day and do my best - but it's a constantly shifting target and I never know where to put my energy.