All the Horrible Girliness

This morning, I potted a dill and a tomato plant. I listened to a Fiona Apple album and sang to it while I picked up the living room, straightened out the couch and coffee table, cleared the dining table and sprayed it down with 409. I put dishes in the dishwasher and started it up, cleaned out the cat's bowls and refilled them, swept up the floor. I cleaned out the shower with scrubbing bubbles and a sponge and it felt good enough to watch the soap marks go away that I didn't mind nearly passing out from standing up too long. When I finally sat down I felt sick so I ate some oatmeal and felt better.

Outside it's gorgeous. I want to be out there walking or running, sweating in the heat. I want to have an excuse to walk out there: a dog or a kid with a stroller, or a place to go. I want to swim laps in the pool outside but I only have bikinis that don't fit anymore, plus the chlorine will strip my hair to green bits.

If I weren't pregnant, I would call Mr. Aran and say, "I want to hit the spinning class tonight," and he'd go to the weight room and do his thing while I pedaled to the blaring music. Then I'd go home and peel the clothes off me, take a well-earned shower, eat and collapse into bed. Life will never be quite like that again.

I'm just tired, maybe lonely. I had a hard time sleeping. There's no gritty, sweaty reason to shower anymore. When I stand straight and look down, I can't see my feet.

So, I might play WoW. Samus is in her forties, a middle-aged gal with no friends to play with. Mr. Aran has a million characters, all low-level, that I sometimes play in hopes that they'll catch up to Samus and we'll go cavorting around Azeroth together like in the good old days of beta. I miss the higher level lands and quests. The forties are goddamned slow, and my equipment is all old, from the Monastery, and I only solo. Every once in awhile I go to Tarren Mill out of sheer boredom and flay whatever's closest, get an HK or two. Someday, maybe, there'll be a Grunt before my name.



My new doctor has a whitening beard and this way of looking at me from the corner of his eye that suggests he has a wry sense of humor once he gets to know you. He's gentle and laid-back. The receptionist and the nurse are sweet. I listened to the kid's heartbeat again, and had my belly measured. The doctor said it was a little small, but he didn't seem worried. I don't know what that means.

posted by Samus @ 1:16 PM