How hormonal swings after IUD removal affect day to day life, or how everything is shit and I want to curl up in bed and cry


I really don’t want to be angry. Truly. It is an amazing and beautiful day. I only had to work for three hours. HB is getting off early, and I’m not flat broke.

I should be estatic.

But fuck everything, because my goddamned hormones demand it.

Haha. Not pregnant! Took a test two days ago after being four days late. My cycle is running long which makes ovulation difficult to time… which doesn’t fucking matter because my husband doesn’t want to perform.

It takes two to make a baby and that motherfucker is slacking. He’s just not feeling “sexual”. Where as a year ago, when we were long distance, he couldn’t wait to get into my pants.

But he’s tired. So we try for morning.

But he’s constipated. I make him flax seed fiber muffins and give him some magnesium.

His tummy hurts. Give him pepto, Alka seltzer, tums, immodium. Whole goddamned drug store.

He isn’t in the mood. Okay. We can get creative. Try new things, lingere, saucy movies, weird shit.

He had a bad day. Okay. I will cook dinner, clean, snuggle, rub your feet, scratch his head… whatever he needs.

No. Nothing.

So, it doesn’t fucking matter if I’m ovulating.

And I’m trying so goddamned hard. I am trying to be supportive. Trying to be helpful. Trying to be understanding. Trying to not be so completely disappointed.

But we are trying to have a baby, and I feel like this is a freaking university group project where I’m the one stuck doing all the work and the other person is phoning it in.

And work isn’t better

Came home pissed because of fucking drama shit that happens when you work with a bunch of petty passive aggressive women who look for reasons to start shit because their life is so empty and unfulfilling that the only thing they find meaningful is interpersonal conflict. Their favorite type of interpersonal conflict is called the Equalizer, where the bitch pack selects target, usually someone who is doing “better” in life or has qualities that make the bitch pack feel inferior or threatened — intellegence, talent, drive, work ethic — and then they make it their life’s mission to make their target as miserable as possible while at work so the bitch pack doesn’t feel so fucking bad.

I came home to angry clean. And I got angry at angry cleaning because my back started hurting and that stupid using a drill with a scrub brush attached doesn’t fucking work. My brush kept coming loose and I had to manually scrub.

Bullshit. So I guess angry laundry and just angry everything will be the course of my day.

Fortunately the end of our work season is coming up. I might be able to transfer during the off season — get put up in a room for a few weeks and do what I do at a different center, with a $700 month differential and a 5% raise during the time I transfer.

Or I can sit at home and collect unemployment from being laid off and work on the house and other creative ventures.

I looked at the job boards today and everything was either retail, food service, or shit I could totally do with a few weeks training, but the listing requires a degree in the thing plus five years experience doing the thing.

Well, seeing as how I’m back into crocheting and with the impending hurricane induced power outage, I have plenty of cures for boredom

Morning folks.

Still on the mend from my back problem and redoubled my low carb efforts because I need to take this weight off my spine.

Looks like we’re getting a hurricane

HB and I are planning and such. Mostly need to get more water as we are on a well and if the power goes out we won’t have water. Also, batteries and baby wipes… because a whore bath is better than no bath.

Very fortunate also that we have a gas stove :-).

But all and all, just trying to see if I can get a hurricane vacation the rest of the week.

I’ve upped my crochet game. My new favorite things are circle blankets.

Right now I’m using baby bee yarn which is a little harder to work with than the ubiquitous red heart or even the sugarwheel I used for this one:

So, I figure when the power goes out, I will crochet by candle light. What I’m not looking forward to most when it comes to hurricanes is the lack of AC — south Georgia + humidity + 90 degree temps = bad juju.

But yeah, I can crochet without power and hopefully my work let’s us off tomorrow so we can buy supplies before everything becomes a shitshow.

On how teen pregnancy is unfair when you are trying to conceive in your 30’s

Cause I can’t get my brain to stop working.

General warning — discussing sex.

You know what grinds my gears — my cousin got pregnant at 16. Had sex like twice. My brother was an accident when my mom was 18. My aunt had a whoops with my cousin at 17. My Nana oopsed with my dad at 16 and my other nana got kocked up with my mom right out of Catholic school.

I spent the entirety of my sexual activity up until two months ago trying to avoid the pregnancy pitfalls of my family — getting pregnant on accident.

Now, I’m going to be 31 in nine days and my HB is 33 and we’re trying to have a baby.

I got my IUD out on 7/22. I had been taking prenatal vitamins since may. No drinking. Exercising. Trying to eat right.

I was hopeful the month I got Mirena out. I had a period the week following, followed all my body’s ovulation signals and we went for it.

I was hopeful… because my period was late. 19 days late to be exact. But it was a big fat negative. I legit took 6 pregnancy tests, one of which had a faint line that turned out to be an evaporation line.

And my subsequent true first period after Mirena was effing awful. I cramped up on the way home from walmart while driving and hyperventilated the whole way back. I ate nsaids like candy. Ugh.

I jokingly blamed my pain on my husband.

Obviously, my cycle was still jacked up from my Mirena and I was running roughly 48 day cycles.

This month I didn’t even pay attention to my app and just went with my body’s signals — feeling erascible, mucus checks, body temp.

My app says I’m supposed to start my period in the next week, which is taken with a grain of salt.

But, it just feels anticlimactic. I figured with how fertile my family is I wouldn’t have trouble. Maybe putting too much thought into it?

Also, I’m nesting like whoa. I have pinterest boards dedicated to baby stuff and my own plans.

Things I know I want:

  • Cloth diapers
  • Breastfeeding
  • Making my own baby food
  • Nursery set up

I’m just ready. I hope I’m not stressing too much.

Playing hookie, but not really though because I have a legitimate back injury but on the mend

Afternoon folks!

Totally took today off. I think I over did it at work yesterday because by the end of the day I was a hurting unit.

This morning I texted my Bosslady at 5am and let her k ow I way over did it yesterday and was paying for it today and I was gonna sit this one out.

No big.

Took my prednisone and flexeril and 800mg advil and went back to sleep.

Slept until 10am and just needed to get up and go. I went to hobby lobby to pick up one more skein of Yarn Bee Sugarwheel in peach butter glaze to finish off the fringes of my circle afghan.

I was gonna post this last night, but I didn’t want to get up to get a picture.

I did get six more skeins of yarn for another project less flamboyant than this. I may gift it. Not sure yet.

I rarely finish crochet projects which is sad; I start and get really into it and then put it down and forget. So, this project has been particularly satisfying.

The mental progression of healing or how having a back injury makes you crazy


HB picked me up from work and I just immediately ate and crashed. Something gave me hard core heart burn all day… but that’s beside the point.

I hate how my brain goes into uber creative mode when can’t do a damned creative thing because my spine and surrounding muscles are in no shape to undertake said creative plans.

Unless it involves crochet or model painting.

Yep. I did that a few weeks ago and now working on two similar pieces of Warhammer 40k terrain.

Also, learned how to do circle afghans. Mostly he hard point is knowing how to increase each row, whereas I was doing a double crochet in each hole and ending up with what I can only describe as a frilly crocheted barbie skirt. Apparently you increase x number of stitches each echelon/tier/circumference where X is the original number of stitches you start with. Mine was 12, so each circumference I would add twelve stitches throughout by counting the progressions of stitches…

But I don’t have a picture because I’m upstairs in bed resting my spine and my afghan is downstairs.

Maybe later.

But I was bored at work and pinteresting my mack daddy projects I can’t do because of my healing back injury — the living room floor, hallway closet, hallway and office floor, and window seat in the den.

Living room floor comes first. We have a solid inch between the previous laminate tounge and groove crap/giant patch of ply board from fixing th floor some months back. The plan is to lay down .5″ ply board over the whole shebang to level and flush everything out, then ou hardwood laminate down. We chose the top clor because it matched the red cedar trim (which I have begrudgingly came to love because tearing it out would mean I need to become an expert at finishing drywall immediately.)

And this is ou living room color:

Which we finished this past weekend and it is beautiful.

I want to make some reclaimex packing crate entertainment center shelves (stained red oakish).

And then the final touch is to shave down the popcorn ceiling, paint it a flat white, then add some horizontal stained boards to give it a modern farmhouse vibe.

And you know what… I can’t do any little fucking bit of that because I fucked up my back and am on bed rest.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is inflamed and herniated.

*le sigh*

A civil discussion on how “taking one for the team” in the workplace is fallacious utter bullshit created by greedy corporate assholes

Morning folks.

Hobbled my busted back into work courtesy of my loving husband who drove me because he didn’t want me driving on muscle relaxers.

A my job, I’m the “petty cash custodian” which means I’m in charge of all things petty cash, including getting said check cashed when we run out.

Check has my name on it… well, my new name… and I haven’t gotten it switched with my bak yet. Yada yada.

My boss has been anti-mileage because we have the van, but expects me to clock out, use my own vehicle, and get a not-my-money-company-check cashed…. without paying me mileage or time. On my way home.

Oh fuck no.

Her rationale: “you have to give a little”.

Dude. I do not work off company time in my personal vehicle.

Last week, I got to travel to south Florida for training at our regional office and got to have a nice long chat with boss’ boss’ boss. I made a comment along the lines of “oh, I was out Friday sick and Bosslady was blowing up my phone.”

Boss’ boss’ boss straight up said that wasn’t allowed and I could legit sue for it.

Yesterday, I got the series of messages from my boss:

Boss: how are you feeling?

Started typing out a message and the next one comes in

Boss: did you do x, y, z.

I just started pushing the back space and didn’t respond.

Because I was told I wouldn’t have to respond if I wasn’t being paid.

Now, in relationships of non monetary types (friendships, family, romance) I am willing to compromise and sacrifice as I see fit.

But if this is a working relationship, to quote Rihanna, “bitch better have my money”.

In addition, I do purchasing and apparently when tell someone that $144 worth of erasible pens is unreasonable when I ordered some for you last month and you shouldn’t distribute them to other staff who aren’t allowed to have them because they fade in the sun and I’m not getting them for you is contentious. As well as you can’t order air fresheners because a) folks like myself are allergic and will do this not breathing thing, which ain’t cool because it takes EMS 30 minutes to get out here and b) we can’t have them per company rules. Lysol, yes. Febreeze, no. It’s what happens when you work with children.

Apparently them’s fighting words.

I’m tired of this place.

My boss is also freaking out that me and HB are baby making and I will be taking a full 12 weeks of maternity leave upon delivery.


So, work frustrates me.

On dealing with the particular ravenousness that occurs with steroid treatment — keto chicken soup edition


Slept all day from the muscle relaxers. Not too terrible. But I have been so ravenous all damned day.

Trying to be moderately low carb, as the whole reason I am in this situation is that I lost a bunch of weight then gained it back and my back hates me. So does my closet, but that’s a different story.


Egg drop chicken soup with veg noodles.

What you’ll need:

  • 2 packs of chicken thighs with bone and skin (deliciousness bone brothiness)
  • One pack of Walmart broccoli shredded Cole slaw mix. It’s in the veggy section — it’s got carrots and some purple cabbage, but not enough to un-keto or un – deliciousness it.
  • 1/4 cup of lemon juice
  • Water to cover all the veg and chicken
  • 4 eggs
  • Xantham gum, 1/2 pack of the Hodgson mills stuff
  • Spices: salt, pepper, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, sage, parsley… and whatever else you’d want to throw in to make it tasty to you

what you’ll do:

  • Throw your chicken thighs in the crock pot.
  • All your spices, lemon juice, veg shreds, water.
  • Set it on high for six hours or longer. However it works for you as long as the chicken falls off the bones.
  • When it’s looking about done, ladle about two cups of broth in a separate pot and turn your eye on high.
  • Sprinkle your xantham gum in while whisking.
  • Crack your eggs in whatever dish you have conducive to holding scrambled raw egg.
  • Pour in slowly, stirring continuously
  • When egg is done (like 5 seconds later) pour eggs broth back into crock pot.
  • Enjoy!

And that’s that. You can dress up or down how you want, but it is the bomb.

Random tangles of incomprehensibility going on in my cranium whilst immeasurably stoned on muscle relaxers


Well, after my ubiquitous er visit last night due to being unable to walk, I am couch ridden on nsaids, steroids and muscle relaxers. With my wonderful and accomodating husband who is currently making chicken bone broth in the crock pot for egg drop soup… with sautéed veggie noodles.

I wanted to discuss some reasons I nuked my blog. I stated earlier I didn’t think my blog reflected who I was. I felt like I was wring for other people and not for me. I felt I couldn’t get out what I needed to get out to accomplish what I need from blogging. I needed to work through my shit, but then I started having to curate my thoughts because I was afraid. I’m a coward.

In this point in my life I don’t want to be afraid of what others think of me. I want to get the horrible anxiety thoughts out. But I was accused of complaining, being petty, being overly dramatic. All those things.

But, see… I put my mental garbage here. This is my therapy. These are things I want to talk about.

That’s all.

The Incomprehensible and Overstated Necessity for a Nacent Cognitive Framework

It’s strange that in my life I only ever want to start fresh when things are utter shit, but that’s not entirely true. Not right now.

I want to write… in a different direction. I want to scrub clean the slate. Hell, if I could change my name and move to faraway lands, I would.

For a being whose whole existence has been transient, I am shackled. By love. By property. By contracts. By need.

See, I was a single gal in the big-city with big-city problems and big-city dreams. Then I gave up my big-city aspirations and went rural. Literally.

I now live on a farm. With a husband. And a need to nest.

But I’ve lost my big-city energy and fell into some inertial aether where nothing feels real. I’m supposed to always feel on the move, anticipating change and flux. I’m always expecting the bottom to fall out or the ground to shake, but nothing.

I am stationary.

And it is weird.

I try to have projects. So many. I’ve picked up various new hobbies I can’t keep interest in.

I stopped drinking. Mostly because my husband scolds me (the husband being the main anchor in my new stationary life). Also, because alcohol is bad in terms of baby making.

Apparently that is my life.

When I was big-city lady, my semi long distance beau would drive an hour and a half, after not having seen me for weeks — all kinds of wanting — and even though I may not have been in the mood — erascible as my doctor would say — I took it for the team. For love. For equity. It was never assault. And I would castigate anyone who promoted that conjecture. It was my sacrifice. My hill.

Now that baby making is a thing and there are calendars and windows and fluids involved, I get the ill timed “but I’m tired”, “not in the mood”, “full”, “bloated”, “constipated”, “dirty”, et cetera.

Those things. It feels unfair, all my “those things” and I still acquiesced.

Now the I married the man I realized his definition of “trying my hardest” differs from mine.

And fucking money. I’m so tired of talking about goddamned fucking money, like it is the only thing saving our marriage and if would crumble if we had none.

But then there are the crowning moments of heartwarming — like him helping me to the toilet because I fucked up my back again.

Marriage is great.

Oh yeah, I fucked up my back. Hence, me making tangents in my brain and needing something new.