Groovymarlin.com

Posts like this and this and this and this are why I can’t stop reading Kristin’s blog. Over this series of posts she tells the story of a weekend trip (and a potential relationship) gone wrong. Same old story, right? Has happened to all of us at one time or another (some of us more than once). Except my God - the way she writes about it:

“But I am writing because I don’t know what else to do as yet another relationship curtain falls on an increasingly decrepit stage, bereft, half-hearted encore complete and shoddy. I just want to exit stage left.”

“The tires squealed as he burned away in my Jeep. I had my laptop, my cellphone, my bank card, and woefully thin white shorts. I sat on a rock and stared at two squirrels dustling in the nearby forest and I took out my cell phone to be picked up by someone, anyone, other than him.

There was no cell phone service.”

“I pulled away with one of his hiking boots, some battered Okanagon fruit, and an intact heart, stealing glances in my rearview mirror at the fury that surrounded him.

I’m OK. I’ll float on. Now I can tread water, and I know how to look out for sharks.”

There is no shark big enough to devour your talent and your spirit, Kristin. Thank you once again for raising the quality level of this “blogosphere” thing. I am in awe of you.

Streets of Bakersfield. Man, I do love me some Dwight Yoakam.

We named our daughter Veronica mostly because other girls’ names that we really liked (Jessica, Olivia) were already taken by other family members. Once we settled on it though, I was really happy with the choice. My daughter enjoys some really cool namesakes - awesome TV show “Veronica Mars,” gorgeous actress Veronica Lake, and this groovy song by Elvis Costello. Even though the song is about an old lady named Veronica, whenever I hear it, I think of my daughter and all the ways she brings me joy. Thanks, Elvis.

So after the results from my recent endometrial biopsy came back negative, I was quite relieved. I naively assumed that things would start to get better - not because I’d had a biopsy, but because I was on the Pill again. I figured being on the Pill would eliminate some of the more unpleasant monthly side effects I was experiencing - like cramps so bad I couldn’t walk, and a ridiculously unpredictable cycle. However, my first cycle after the biopsy was even worse than usual. I never really got a period in the technical sense. I did, however, get killer cramps that absolutely disabled me for a whole day. On top of that, something just didn’t feel right, I couldn’t explain it succinctly but something was off, way off.

So I emailed my doctor’s office and they said she was out that week, but they’d get back to me. Two weeks went by. I emailed again. This time I got a reply about an hour later (with an apology for misplacing my previous message). My doctor prescribed some antibiotics, which she instructed me to pick up at the pharmacy ASAP, and advised me that if troublesome symptoms persisted, I would need to come in to the office for a follow-up.

Hmm…antibiotics. OK, she wasn’t really clear on WHY I needed to take them, but I went ahead and took them anyway (three days of zithromax, which really fucked with my digestive tract, but whatever). I also did some more Internet research and came to the conclusion that there are two possibilities:

1. She thought that I had developed an infection as a result of the biopsy procedure, a rare but not impossible side effect.

2. She thought she had perforated my uterus during the procedure, another rare but not impossible side effect.

Neither possibility thrills me, but I took my antibiotics. I had a period not long after they were finished, and while it was still a drag, it was just slightly better than what I dealt with the month previous. So I figure, I wait for the next one and see how it goes - if my symptoms continue to improve, then I probably don’t have anything to worry about. At least not until the next wacky, abnormal test result.

Damn uterus.

No, don’t actually touch ME. “Touch Me,” by The Doors. My favorite Doors song. Just look at Jim Morrison - for the time, he was shockingly flamboyant and beautiful and sexually ambiguous. Hell, even for today - I don’t know many men who would even try to carry off that belt, for instance. My God…he was so HOT.