Drafts

I have a list of posts in DRAFT that I never finished, edited or published. They are:

3/24/2010 |Twenty Weeks, Maternity Clothes & Tuna Fish

Yet it's blank. I do believe this is The Last Time I Ate Tuna and there was some discussion of it.The next post was Untitled and was dated 4/23/2010 although I could have written it today.

4/23/2010 | Untitled
A change of choice, a change I invited - but one far more complicated then I expected. There is the change in body, in size. The changes in ability - to lift, to walk. The changes in stamina - to nap, to work. The changes in application - may I do this, can I do that? The daily headaches, the pelvic pain, the rib separation, the muscle atrophy. The onset of gestational diabetes and the online, oft chastising advice to exercise it off, with my actual doctors saying not to exercise at all. Friends. Friends who offer to help, to be there, to support - who are only being called upon to sympathize, yet want to compartmentalize symptoms into something logical that makes sense to them. Something familiar, yet invalidating. So frustrating. Yes, you have been pregnant. We are not so different. You were tired too? You had pain? Surely we are the same.

Because I have pain too. and yet, the hours that we are not talking? The hours you don't see me? The hours I don't blog. What do you think those are like? Do you picture me laying in bed, watching television? Do you picture me sitting, feet up. Toddling into the kitchen for bon bons and juice? What do you imagine?

Are you imagining my driving weekly to a specialist, spending myriad hours at the hospital? Are you picturing me at home, sitting on the floor, parceling items out for goodwill wishing for someone to come lift the bags into my car? Are you picturing me surrounded by paid for help that is waiting for direction with little initiative, sighing at the tasks I assign them? Are you picturing the phone ringing, with two mothers constantly complaining that at 60 (and at 50, and at 40) their lives were unhappy and why am I not making time for them? Are you picturing my arguing with my husband, who thinks emptying a closet is redundant, as is painting a house, because somehow, after having twins, I am going to rise up like a phoenix from the ashes and get it all done? Do you picture me online house hunting, planning the inevitable move? Do you question why? Why is this necessary? Surely. Because I am either going to do it now... or later. But no one else is going to do it.

Then on 4/26, I think I had read one two many FB posts on "What's wrong with...my state, my country, my spouse..."


4/26/2010 | More Notes From The Land Of "I'm Perfect"

If you really really don't like the state you live in; if you bitch about the traffic, the politics, the weather, the people, the infrastructure, the policies, your rights, your services, your opportunities, the cost of living there, and the myriad OTHER things that annoy you, I have a simple solution.
Move.

Around 5/5 I placed an ad on Craigslist asking for help moving some yard stuff. By 5/6/2010 I was updating you all on my fantasy follow up post...

5/6/2101 | **UPDATE**

OK, thank you all for your responses now let's get realistic. I was seeking someone move three things. Things a 5 foot tall housewife moved in the first place. Things I can't move today due to a minor surgery. Things that I normally throw in the back of my soccer mom teeny SUV.

Now lets talk about the ad. It said WAKEFIELD" So...hmmm..ok. A pit pass in Wakefield is $25. Say you are a landscaper, ... you drive by, you grab the 1 trash barrel , the tiny bale of hay, and the twigs (now bagged). It takes you six minutes max including chit chat and off you go. The $20 pays for an annual pass. Ish. Actually the pass is now $25 but still. Close, right? Not a bad deal.

So while I appreciate the guy that lived on the south shore quoting me $100 plus dollars, I need to ask you to really THINK about this before you hit respond. I was offering $20 for 5 minutes of your time... on a day you were doing work IN TOWN, already driving to our local pit. I'm not looking to refinance your house or to have your crew landscape my acres of pastoral farmland. I'm not looking for an affair, an illegal dump, you to teach me how to compost my refuse, or a lesson in economics. Unless you are already billing out at $240 an hour, $20 was a fair offer. And if it wasn't "enough" why on gods green earth did you click on the link? Honestly? Really? Thanks anyway. I'll flag someone down tomorrow. And you, my friends, you are ruining my faith in mankind.

On May 31, I had uncovered a draft of one titled POSTCARDS. That one I'll hit "publish" on and by done with...
5/31/2010 | Postcards