First I must mention: I just got a really favorable Kirkus Review! It's a little meandering in its plot summation but I'm slapping this little excerpt wherever I can:
"Barrell's admirable debut is an engaging journey into a troubled mind...a promising novel." -- Kirkus Reviews
Back to life stuff:
I'm mostly over my perennial holiday doldrums and looking forward to figuring out what to write next, dropping some ol' L-B's with Orangetheory (It's turning me into a maniac, in a good way), growing out my still-crazy mop (scroll all the way down for a visual of the latest...), and hopefully, no big deal, finding out where my little frozen embryos are located. Because literally, I don't know where they are.
I have the paperwork, I know some facility stored them for a year and that we have to pay exorbitant sums thereafter to continue storing them...but hell's bells, it's been well over a year and no one has contacted me. The conversations with the fertility oncologist we had back in May 2016 about fallopian tubes and egg retrievals remain a sad, panicked blur and fuck if I can remember what was going on; I almost didn't even go through with it!
So, Nicole, um, just call and find out? I know, I know. I have the number on my desk, it's been there since May 2017, but I can't bring myself to call. I'm aware this is quite literally a matter of life and death and that I should be concerned, but all this fertility business tires me now, as it tired me then. My baby-making abilities have fallen down my list of wants and needs considerably (not that they were ever too high in the first place), after the whole cancer thing and revisiting it makes me...yeah, tired.
And you know what? I feel a little weird about the baby-makin' thing overall anyway because I think people expect me to be sad about not being able to have kids in the near future, or maybe ever? And sorry to break it to ya, I'm not really. I'm a tad bit relieved. I don't particularly feel drawn to babies; I don't feel any pang of yearning or maternal aches. I am annoyed that this delayed/possibly-in-jeopardy baby-makin' derailment was not my choice, obviously, but truth be told, it's not lack of baby that makes me sad. It's seeing all my friends leave me in the dust.
I'm more sad that in the blink of an eye, every photo and every talking point is lasered in on babies, babies, babies. While I love my friend's kids, the reality is I can't relate, and being someone who holds friendship just as high as family in terms of importance, sometimes maybe more (e.g. not having sisters makes my friends my sisters), this detachment from them as they hurtle forward in life sucks. I worry that by the time I do pop one out, their kids will be old as fuck and no one will want to come to a stupid baby shower, that my in-laws will be older and won't be able to help us, and that my mom won't be here.
But...if there's anything I've been forced to learn it's that nothing goes to plan (not that I've been a big life planner anyway) and that it's a waste of time to expect it to. So I'll make the most of this uncertain couple of years where my required meds take away any risk of getting preggo. I'm hoping to plan a big trip. I'm taking writing classes at Grub Street for 6 weeks starting next week, and I've been attending a writing group at the town library that I love with this unbearably cute 80+-year-old man named Frank who writes delightfully humorous poetry.
I'll make the best of this time focusing on what I want and what I can do, and eventually, hopefully, I'll find out where those damn eggs are?
Ohhh, I didn't forget.
Hair update 1/5/18 (13 months of growth.)
Happy it's full and thick and getting there! Just wish it'd weigh itself down, versus floofing out so wildly. Here's to more inches in '18. Inch by inch. XOXO
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