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(no subject) [Nov. 3rd, 2015|12:01 am]
My friend Chris had a baby in August.

I was like...suuuuuuuper gross in love with Chris back when I used to update this journal regularly. I met him when I was 16 and he was 21, and he was the MOST INTERESTING PERSON EVER. He had an apartment in Brooklyn and listened to Mogwai and Stereolab and other bands I'd never heard of and I desperately wanted to be cool enough for him. We made out a few times when I was a teenager, and then after I graduated college, I flew to San Francisco and fell in love with him all over again for a week and he broke my heart in a million little pieces.

I don't think I've ever had a crush like the one I had on Chris. Like no one has ever made me feel that insanely, irrationally, desperately in love. I guess it's stupid to call that in love; I was never in love with him; but kind of I was.

Anyway. Chris is old now. I am 30, so I guess that makes him 35? He sent me the instagram feed he set up to share pictures of his son. His beard is spackled with white and gray, and he looks kind of chubby and tired.

He is kind of an asshole. I mean, he was an asshole for treating me poorly when I was young and dumb and in love with him. Since his girlfriend got pregnant, I realized that he is actually just an asshole. He is super pretentious and sanctimonious -- every conversation about his girlfriend's pregnancy and his kid are thinly veiled opportunities for him to brag about shit.

And, you know, it took 14 years, but the spell is broken. I am so glad that I didn't end up with him, or someone like him. I often wonder if I did the wrong thing, marrying someone who I didn't feel that kind of irrational, obsessive, crush/love feeling for -- I always wonder if my marriage was the wrong choice. But I married someone who I am compatible as shit with, and no matter how gray and white Sean's beard gets, I won't love him any less. I liked Chris because he was insanely hot and so mysterious and jesus christ I'm so glad I married the man I married instead of a mystery.

I mean. Not that Chris ever would have married me anyway. So, you know, thank god for small favors. Shit really has a way of working itself out, I guess, is the moral of the Chris story.
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(no subject) [Nov. 1st, 2015|09:37 pm]
Ok, just like, a separate entry for all this boring blah blah, because I felt like the last one was bigger and kind of separate.

I felt like I finally did a good job of being a responsible, adult person this weekend, and for no real reason, I would like to run through all of it.

My car had gotten to a state that was just completely embarrassing and I didn't even want the other parents to glance at it when I drop off kiddo at daycare. There was a bunch of shit in it but the worst part was that there were a bunch of cheerios that had gotten ground into the carpet. And I'm not talking about like, 2 or 3 cheerios. Like imagine that a 2 year old dumped an entire bowl of cheerios on the floor and then you stepped on them trying to get them out of her car seat. That many cheerios.

Also, her car seat had 2 years' worth of food and generally shit ground into it, and desperately needed to be cleaned.

So, I youtubed some videos and got the cover to her car seat off, and took my car to the car wash while grandma watched her. They vacuumed up the entire bowl of cheerios and 2 years' worth of crumbs out of her car seat. And then I successfully reattached the car seat cover. I mean, mostly successfully. I found some weird buckle thing in the drier that I definitely didn't detach? So...I also didn't reattach it. I hope the car seat still works?

And then today I: made breakfast, drove my husband to the airport, bought $168.97 of groceries at Sprouts (including an orchid and cut irises), unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, folded and put away a load of whites, made lunch, took out a lot of recycling, washed and folded and put away darks and towels and sheets, re-made my bed, made bolognese and pasta, re-cleaned the kitchen, and packed lunch for both me and kiddo for tomorrow.

So my car is clean, every bed in my house has clean sheets, and lunches are packed.

I think I did a pretty good job.
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(no subject) [Nov. 1st, 2015|08:47 pm]
I just want someone to talk to and I don't know who to talk to.

My husband is out of town on business, and my kid skipped her nap today and fell asleep at 5:30ish (but the time changed today, so really 6:30ish). She fell asleep without eating dinner or brushing her teeth, but she was so sleepy, I arbitrarily decided that was the priority, which I guess is what parents are for?

I have been really depressed lately. Like not I'm-gonna-kill-myself depressed, just I-can't-stand-to-live-inside-my-head depressed. I don't want to talk to anyone because I feel like everything I say is stupid and the wrong thing to say. I don't feel motivated to get any work done, and then I feel guilty and useless and worthless for not getting anything done. I don't have much patience with my daughter, which also makes me feel guilty for snapping at her and for not being fun and warm and playful with her. Moreover, I feel guilty for not enjoying my time with her, since I have precious little of it -- she grows and changes so much every day.

I got a 10 on a grant application (R21) recently. That will probably go down as one of the biggest "wins" of my life. A 10 is a perfect score. R21s don't get percentile scores but on a different application, I got a 16, and it was in the top 2%. So I think it's fair to estimate that the 10 was in the top 1% of applications, and maybe even 0.1% or something crazy like that, depending on how many applications there were (I have no idea).

Anyway, the point is, this score was insane! And I am still waiting for the moment that I feel happy about it. I got the score a few weeks ago, and I acted happy, and I even walked out of my boss' office and pumped my fists in the air like I was in a movie. But I still haven't really felt happy about it. So I guess I am not feeling very normal.

Also, I have been skipping every song on my favorite Pandora station lately. It's like this dumb little thing that always stands out to me when it happens -- I know that I'm not feeling normal when I hate every song and nothing sounds good.

Why am I depressed. Well. The miscarriage. That is the main thing, I think. My baby died and got vacuumed out of me. I should have been in my third trimester now. I should have had a big pregnant belly instead of just my normal chubbiness. I should have a baby kicking and rolling inside me. And I don't, because my baby died and got vacuumed out of me. I get to say it twice, because I had to have the procedure done twice.

If I had known when I had the miscarriage that November would come and I would still not be pregnant, I think it would have been unbearable. The thing that got me through that time was believing that I would be pregnant again right away. In theory, I could have gotten pregnant 2 or 3 weeks after the miscarriage.

But 4 weeks after the first procedure, I had to have another one, because they didn't get it all (all of my baby's dead tissue) the first time. So I still wasn't pregnant. And 21 days after that -- right on schedule, according to all the studies I googled -- I ovulated again. And I still wasn't pregnant. But I hadn't had a period yet, so that was normal, right? I got my period, and I ovulated again, and I'm still not fucking pregnant. So my baby died in July, and it's November, and I'm still not fucking pregnant.

And I feel like I have no right to grieve it, because I have the most singularly wonderful daughter who has ever graced the planet Earth. Why should I be allowed to have two? And, it wasn't even a baby. It was an alien-shaped clump of tissue when it died.

But, by now, it would have been a baby. And instead, it's just biomedical waste.

Yeah ok so maybe I'm still pretty depressed about the miscarriage.

I am also really sad about a situation that happened with my friends earlier this month. It's a little complicated to describe. My friend N is getting married in December. She invited me to her bachelorette party. I knew everyone else at the party; most of us went to grad school together. It was a weekend-long party in La Jolla. I didn't have a great time. It was ok while I was there, but I had a few moments of feeling like N had misinterpreted some things I was saying, or just otherwise feeling like I was saying or doing the wrong thing. Like, at one point, I poured everyone another round of drinks, and one of the other girls trailed after me with a paper towel wiping up droplets of stuff that spilled. Like literally a drop here and there.

So, anyway, the final morning, I couldn't sleep despite barely sleeping all weekend, and I decided to come home early. The fridge was still packed full of food, and I figured most of it would just go to waste, so I packed up some stuff for N, and took the rest home. I thought I was doing everyone a favor, because there was so much shit to deal with, and a lot of other people had left already.

One of the party organizers texted me that night to ask if I had taken all the food home because I was mad about something. And even as I write that, I'm like: What? What kind of logic is that? What kind of person would steal a bunch of food to get back at their friends? Like...just what? I took the food because otherwise it would have gone in the trash. I thought I was being fucking helpful. And I know it was just one dumb text, but I kind of feel like it was the nail in the coffin on that friendship. It has always been a contentious friendship. Maybe this is just me stroking my own ego, but I think the girl who sent that text (S) is probably jealous that I am more successful than she is as a postdoc. Or, I don't know, maybe I'm a crazy person who steals food out of vengeance. (!?)

So those are the two major contributors -- the miscarriage, and that one text that I think means the final dissolution of that friendship.

Well, ok, maybe one more. I worry a lot about my marriage. A lot. A little over a month ago, my husband and I went out for a date night. It was not a great date. For the first part, I felt like he was judging me for not doing a better job making friends in LA. Not that he's made any friends since we moved to LA -- he just had a lot of friends here already. But later in the evening was the really bad part. He said that he'd like to have some paperwork drawn up to protect his business in the event that we divorced, since right now, I would get 50% by default.

He really got me where it hurts. I have felt like our marriage was so unfairly balanced because I do so much more parenting than he does, so much more housework, so much more of the joint stuff we are both responsible for. And I do it all partly because I just want to do it to make our partnership work, but also because I knew he had to work on the business. And it was like he was saying to me that all that work had been invisible to him, like I had done nothing for him and deserved no part of his business.

We talked it out and I came to understand that he just didn't want to lose 50% of it, not that he felt I contributed nothing, so maybe I overreacted. Maybe I also had a hard time because I had just recently gotten to the point where I stopped thinking of our marriage as a temporary thing that was sure to dissolve, or at least I had felt less like that, lately. And then since he brought that up, it seems like our marriage is sure to end, and it's just a question of when. Like he's evaluating the exact quantity of my contributions and trying to determine if it's sufficient to justify remaining married to me.

He has actually been doing a lot more of the household / baby stuff lately, and now every time he does something like cook dinner, instead of feeling grateful to him, the crazy party of me feels like he's trying to push me out of our marriage and justify leaving me. Why stay married to me if I contribute nothing to our marriage anyway, right? Sometimes I try to guess at his mental arithmetic and I wonder why he's married to me right now.

And then being so unhappy amplifies that. Why would he want to be married to someone who is so miserable to be around? Someone so sad, so insecure, so joyless, so irritable?

Last night, after taking our daughter trick-or-treating at my husband's grandma's, we drove back to our house. He tried to plug his phone into the charger in my car and pointed out that the charger was literally falling apart, like all the wires are exposed. It was something he'd commented on before and I think I had probably gotten kind of defensive about it. He brought it up, and then pointedly said, "You know, you could destroy 100 of these chargers, and I would buy you 100 more." Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I felt like it was his way of saying, I love you, please stop being so defensive and insecure, everything is ok.

And I really want him to be right. I really want everything to be ok.
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I had a miscarriage [Aug. 2nd, 2015|11:01 pm]

So livejournal still exists.

I just need somewhere I can talk about this and there is no one to talk to. And I think maybe I don't want to hear what anyone else has to say. But I can't stop thinking about it.

I wrote about it a few times on a couple different reddit groups. I talked about finding out, and the impossible logistics of having a miscarriage alone while having a (n almost) 2 year old. And I talked about how I am so sad.

I am still so sad.

I found out on Tuesday (it's Sunday now). I went to Kaiser for my nuchal translucency scan at 12 weeks, 1 day. It makes me cringe to remember this now -- that morning, I had a passing thought that I could get to the ultrasound and find a dead baby. And I thought, it would be better if it were me, since I already have a child; since I didn't have to go through years of infertility or expensive interventions to have this baby. And then I thought, but it's not me. The odds are something like 1% of 1% -- only 1% have miscarriages after seeing a heartbeat (we saw one at 8 weeks); only 1% have no signs of a miscarriage.

But it was me.

Sean was out of town, and my car keys had disappeared the day before (they are still missing). So I took an Uber to Kaiser and realized on the way there I didn't have much battery left on my phone -- and I would need my phone to get an Uber home. Even going into the appointment, I was anxious about the stupid phone problem and the stupid car problem.

My doctor was running late, so they took my vitals and did the ultrasound first. The ultrasound tech was friendly and chatty until she got the thingie on me, and then there the baby wasn't. A 12 week old baby should have looked mostly human, it should have jumped onto the screen and been bouncing around. But the only thing in my uterus was a small, alien-shaped hunk of tissue. Not human-shaped. Not a baby. Not moving.

I watched her take some hurried measurements. I watched her pull up the flat line that should have been my baby's heart beat.

I asked if anything was wrong. She asked what I meant. Is it ok? I asked. Is she moving? (I don't know why I said she, it just came out.) The tech lied -- yes, nothing to worry about, everything is fine, the baby is just too small and we'll have to reschedule your appointment. She made a point of showing me my paperwork and saying, I'm just going to set this aside and we'll use it next time, when you come back, after we reschedule. She said she would have to get my doctor to talk to me.

I knew and didn't want to know that there was no baby. I tried listening to an episode of The Moth while waiting for my doctor -- an episode where Jim Fallon, a neuroscientist I know, talks about finding out he has brain activity and genes associated with psychopathy. I knew the story already, couldn't focus, didn't want to think about psychopaths. I wanted to think of some way my baby was still alive and ok and growing. But there wasn't one.

The doctor called me in and very solemnly and kindly said that there was "no cardiac activity." We did another ultrasound and I heard the deafening silence of no heart beating -- just white noise.

She told me about my options, and when she left I cried as hard as I could for a few minutes, and then they sent me to a room to wait for a nurse to talk to me more. And the whole time I'm still trying to figure out how much battery I have left on my phone, how I'm going to get home.

I scheduled a D&C and then realized I had no one to drive me home from it. The only people who live in Los Angeles and knew I was pregnant were:

-- my husband, who was on a business trip to Minnesota
-- the house cleaner, who we asked to come every week instead of every other week because my morning sickness was so bad
-- Luke, who was on the east coast doing something for his art project thing
-- Sean's best friend
-- Martin

So I texted Martin.

I thought about a handful of girl friends I could call who didn't even know I was pregnant, and it seemed pretty fucked up to ask them to drop everything in the middle of the day on a Wednesday to drive me home from my miscarriage when I hadn't even told them I was pregnant. And the whole reason you don't tell people when you're pregnant is so you don't have to tell them about your miscarriage. For a while I felt worse about the whole thing, like what the fuck is wrong with me that I don't have a single girl friend I can call up when the most emergent of emergencies is emerging?

Me: hey, I need a big favor. can you give me a ride tomorrow?

Martin: I'm extremely busy

Me: I'm having a miscarriage and I need a ride home from the hospital. They need to do a procedure and I have to be medicated for it

Martin: Wow, I'm sorry. I'm still not sure I can make it though

But he did. I got up at 7, inserted a misoprostol pill at 7:30, put on a pad in case I started bleeding uncontrollably, walked Maya to daycare, called an Uber, got to the OB/Gyn waiting room in Kaiser, and took 2 Norcos and a Valium. I started to feel better almost instantly. For the first time since I'd found out 24 hours earlier, I wasn't holding back tears; everything felt manageable.

They were incredibly kind to me. I realize now that every time I have been annoyed at a doctor's office for being slow and stupid and disorganized, I was the asshole -- they are dealing with people who have much bigger problems. That day, I was the person with bigger problems, and they took very good care of me. The doctor was so kind and warm and normal, and we had just like a completely normal conversation while she sucked dead fetal tissue out of me. I tried not to watch as she filled one and then two and then three jars with bloody frothy waste from my uterus.

It hurt a little bit, but not as much as I expected. The hydrocodone and acetaminophen and a Toradol shot they gave me probably helped. Mostly, it was uncomfortable, like a pap smear or a cervical check.

And then it was over. I wasn't pregnant anymore. I guess I hadn't been for weeks, though.

They had made such a big deal about having someone come up and meet me in the waiting room. But the nurses weren't paying the slightest bit of attention, so I just walked out. I felt fine, physically. A little fuzzy thanks to the drugs, but no pain or dizziness or faintiness.

There was a farmer's market outside Kaiser. I bought peaches and plums and strawberries while I waited for Martin. On the drive home, we mostly talked about work and this stupid idiot talk I have to give Saturday that I completely regret agreeing to.

At home, I ate some food and contemplated how normal I felt. Way more normal than being pregnant. Sean had asked his best friend to pick up Maya and bring us dinner from my favorite neighborhood place, but it was such a hassle because of the car issue -- I felt really bad asking him to walk there and back, and I felt so normal, I told him not to come. I picked Maya up myself and went through all the motions of being a normal person and did not mention to anyone I came across that I had a dead fetus scraped out of my uterus just hours earlier.

Sean came home that night and was home for one day before leaving again for a fun trip. Maya and I spent the weekend hanging out and wow there is nothing like a toddler to make you forget about your own dumb feelings.

It has been an unremarkable weekend but just like every weekend we spend like this, it's been so good I don't want to forget any of it, even the dumb annoying stuff. Saturday morning she asked to put on sandals and a hat, and we walked to the Coffee Bean and I got an iced coffee and she got an orange juice, and then we went to our Saturday morning music class at the baby yoga studio. And she was awesome and sang songs and was the cutest and I chatted briefly with the other moms who have just-about-2-year-olds.

She really didn't want to nap and I spent hours trying to get her down but she was so cheerful and fun the whole time and was happy to read books together and play with her dolls until she finally fell asleep around 3:30. I woke her up a little after 5 so she wouldn't go to bed too late, and we went to the park and it was all golden-dusky and beautiful and we went on slides and swings and climbed things and talked about toddler stuff. At bedtime she really wanted to jump on the bed so I turned on the Lady Gaga Pandora station and we jumped on the bed to Jason Derulo and collapsed on the bed laughing over and over again.

After she went to sleep I stayed up too late drinking too much and reading and watching stuff about miscarriages and being sad.

Today (Sunday) I dragged Maya to Target and she took off her sandals and demanded to walk around barefoot and I felt like a terrible mom. It did not help that I was there in part to buy her pacifiers and bottles, which most good moms have long removed from their 2 year olds' lives, but I am anxious to have any help possible to get her off the boob.

I also bought myself a shirt I don't need that doesn't fit because I am uncomfortably fat in the abdominal region and now it's not because I'm pregnant, I'm just fat.

And then we came home because of the sandal situation, and to my great surprise Maya passed right out and took a great nap and I ordered everything I've ever wanted from Instacart, including Hoegaarden since I'm not pregnant and I can drink anything I want. And then they had a thing where you could pay $0 for delivery instead of $5 or whatever if you buy 2 Ben & Jerry's, which seemed like a no-brainer.

And then Maya woke up and we went to the pool, and then we played and she watched videos quietly while I cooked dinner, and then for some reason she wanted to play in the shower together so we took a shower, and then she fell asleep early (for her), and I was a little sad because I had such a perfect and fun day with her.

So, it was a good weekend, after a bad week.

I still wish that it had not happened. I wish I could go back and undo the miscarriage. But maybe there are silver linings: I felt so ambivalent about being pregnant again, and now I don't -- I even remember thinking, I wish I had that feeling like I NEED to be pregnant -- and now I have it, I need to be pregnant again. And I had wanted Maya to be a little older before we brought a new baby around, so now she will be.

And who knows, maybe it is an important experience. Not a good or enjoyable experience but an important one. I feel like I had no concept of what a miscarriage was like until it happened to me, and now I know. It's not knowledge I would have wanted to have, but it's knowledge that so many women have, and maybe now I can say the right thing to them instead of the wrong thing or the nothing that is being said to me right now.

And that's the story of my miscarriage.
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(no subject) [Dec. 1st, 2012|08:54 pm]
Week 6: Feel significantly less crazy, but constant nausea has set in along with headaches and dizziness. Extreme fatigue continues. Have not gotten out of bed for non-necessary things for 2 days.
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(no subject) [Jun. 23rd, 2011|10:28 pm]
I had a dream the other night that there was a catastrophic event that destroyed society as we know it, and it was terrifying but beautiful.

Walking home tonight, I thought about now convenient a catastrophic event could be.

Problems yet unsolved:
(1) My paper was rejected, again
(2) My current experiment is not working
(3) This makes it hard to be appropriately enthusiastic about Shawn's publication (although I am an author on that too)
(4) Pain in both illotibial bands
(5) Pain in left plantar fascia
(6) Pain in left patellar tendon
(7) 56 days to advancement. I no longer know what I am doing.

I still can't believe NLM rejected my paper. I could have addressed every last one of their criticisms. Every one. Larry was so kind to me about it. He was so supportive. You're smart, you're bright, you're a good scientists, you get it, he says. I fucking hope he's right.

Problems previously solved:
(1) Extensor tendinitis
(2) Ridiculous skin problems
(3) Lack of great sex/making out

I guess S is the most positive thing in my life right now, and that seems like an unreasonable amount of pressure to put on him. You know, sometimes we hang out and there are these awkward pauses in the conversation, and I think, shit, this can never work. And we talk on the phone a couple times a week, and I'm so fucking bad at that. Tonight he wanted to talk about Candice, and I kept pausing for him to talk more, and whenever I pause he just moves the conversation on to the next topic.

I don't know. Fuck. I have so much anxiety, ruminating over everything lately. Work. Work. Work. Fuck.

But, you know what, I will solve all of these problems too. I believe that this is a real effect, and if I give the study adequate power it will emerge. Joe pointed out, what I have right now is an adequately powered study with p=0.004, and an underpowered study that is not significant (really, really not significant), so why would I believe the one that's underpowered?

ITBS was a matter of time; every runner deals with it. I just have to take it easy, stretch a lot, not overdo mileage.

Shawn's paper is my paper too. The publication is a good thing. I became curious about how the pill affects cognition 5 years ago, and now I am an author on a paper about it.

I will have to work incredibly hard to get my advancement done, and it is just a matter of time and effort. I can do it.

This thing with S is good. He brings a lot of new things into my life, and that is exactly what I wanted. To be expanded. And he is always open to doing new things with me. And fuck, I just fucking love the way he touches me. Yeah, actually, he is exactly what I wanted. Maybe I am a little scared it will go away. But then he says the stuff about the meeting the family, and that gives me a sense of security, I think.

Ben has been calling me a lot lately. I guess he misses me.
Me: the last haircut I got was the one you bought me at that place in Silver Lake
B: Oh, yeah. Why did I buy it for you?
Me: you used to do shit like that all the time
him: that doesn't sound like me
me: sure, you used to do shit like that all the time, buy me flowers for no reason.
him: that's not the kind of thing I do
me: but you did.

subtext: I've never loved anyone the way I loved you
unspokenreply: yeah but you fucked it up asshole and I'm happier now

My abs hurt and I want to drink a lot tonight but I also want to work out incredibly hard tomorrow morning.
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(no subject) [May. 9th, 2011|02:59 am]
That was a weird day.

Started with being woken up by Ben calling at 1:30am. We have been on notspeaking terms for months, so it jostled me into being very awake despite not answering. Woke up again at 6:30 after having a horribly intense dream about trying to seduce him and him resisting because he loves his girlfriend so much.

He gchatted me about an hour later to apologize for calling so late. He called, apparently, because he and his girlfriend broke up. So he can talk to me again.

They broke up because she read this email from me:

the only times i feel like you're engaged are when we're talking about sex. and i don't like talking to you about sex. i mean, i do, because i like the attention and it makes me feel like you still care about me. but we can't have a friendship like that, and i hate that you do that to your girlfriend. even though i hate her.

Amazing. The universe is a just and fair place after all.

Couldn't go back to sleep after that so I went for a (hard) run, showered, and headed off to LA. Normal meditation and yoga classes, although for some reason I started having crazy panic anxiety about not hearing from the Professor, even though we have a standing Sunday date.

He finally texted me during yoga and I asked if he would go see this Elliott Smith documentary with me. He declined and was incredibly difficult and annoying about it. I was torn between acquiescing to his obnoxious request that I come over afterward (and feel like a whore) vs telling him I would just see him in 5 weeks when he gets back from Europe.

Mid-annoyance, I went to my coffee shop in Santa Monica, where I ran into Martin. We had this conversation:

Me: Hey! I thought you were working all day!
Him: I AM working.
Me: Ok...then I'll just sit here and not bother you...

I thought when he got to a good stopping place he would chat for a few minutes but he completely ignored me until I left. Annoying x 2.

I gave up on humanity and ventured off to find the theater the documentary was playing at. I had a couple hours to kill so I figured I would park and find a bar/restaurant to get very drunk/have dinner at. But it turned out to be in the ghetto, so instead I got lost for a while in the middle of downtown LA and ended up buying 2 mini bottles of Moscato to stuff in my purse for during the movie.

The movie. It was great. It wasn't particularly well-made, but Elliott Smith. Man. And his fiancee was actually there at the theater. Los Angeles.

The Professor kept texting me to make sure I was coming over after, and I made it there a little after 10, exhausted. We promptly got into a full on actual fight over America and Osama bin Laden of all fucking things, and neither of us was particularly apt at defusing it. I mean, he tried, but he wanted to win too badly. I felt like I held my own, all things considered, but it was definitely not one of my better arguing performances. At one point I got so annoyed I put on my coat and shoes to leave, but I guess it was at least partly a bluff, because I didn't want to end things that way before he went out of town.

We both kind of allowed a detente situation to arise, and I curled up against his shoulder finally and we had unremarkable sex. He kind of tried to kick me out ("I have a really busy day tomorrow...") before I was ready and I told him to shut up, he was leaving for so long I deserved a few more minutes. And he agreed with this.

On the way out he gave me his mountaineering socks. Whenever I come over in flip flops my feet get cold, and I borrow a pair of socks, and he puts his mountaineering socks on me. So as we were leaving, he asked if I wanted to take them home for while he was gone. And he walked me out and teased me about my shredded wheat and my garden and kissed me a lot but not enough and then I came home.
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(no subject) [Aug. 3rd, 2010|11:08 pm]
The girls all made it out for happy hour tonight, every last one of us, and I am filled with the beer and the wine and so much love. We are extraordinary! And life is good to us.
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(no subject) [Jun. 22nd, 2010|08:06 pm]
Will's running socks + thorough lymphatic fluid removal + precise coverage with blister bandaids = perfect blister solution.
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(no subject) [Feb. 5th, 2010|12:12 am]
I have this fixation on moving back to San Francisco. I'm not sure why I moved there in the first place, but it felt right and it still does.

This is not an idle fixation. I am, with about 50% sincerity, basing my future life choices on it. I briefly house-shopped on the internet today to figure out how much money I really need to make to someday buy property in the vicinity. Not a whole house; just an apartment will do.

I just want to go back, I just need to go back home.
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