One part of me thinks, why the hell am I up at 6 a.m. when I don't have to be? And another, a more sensible part, responds, you're up anyway. Besides, do you think you're actually going to get through the day without being tired? Sleep is irrelevant.

Sigh. Horrible dreams again, the really mundane kind of horrible where you mistake them for approaching reality and wake up confused as to where you are in the slipstream of time. I wake up depressed as hell, the energy for another day just sucked right out of me. To paraphrase the Dears, the dreams beat the crap out of me. Just once I'd like an anxiety dream about the baby to break up the monotony of school. You know: I can't find the baby, something's wrong with the baby, they take the baby away from me. Just one night I want to wake the Boy up with something new.

Bah. I suppose there's no point in kicking up a fuss about having to go back to school in the fall. We badly need the money, and without a job as of this week, I won't get maternity benefits at all. 10 or 11 weeks aren't that long in the scheme of things; I just wish my course load were a little more academic and a little less stressful. The other thing is that I more or less completely lack the time to get re-trained in another profession between the baby's birth & my re-entry into the workforce - so I'm looking at another full year of teaching while the Boy finishes his academic career. If I can switch schools, that'll help.

Anyway. I'm sorry to bore you with the little rat race my mind's been on this summer. I know I've said variations on all of these things before, and there's nothing less interesting than the complex web of justifications and whining spun by someone who feels trapped and miserable in something they thought they wanted to do.

Sorry.

I spent yesterday in a bit of a haze; I woke up late and it set the tone for the entire day. The Boy took the afternoon to playtest the roleplaying game he's developing for his math tutorial program, so I went to my parents' house to do laundry and watch my season 3 Buffy DVD (thanks, Poet!). Really, I should know better than to try watching 2 1/2 eps in one afternoon - I just get irritable after 2.

The afternoon was somewhat broken up by the waking of Nic, who wandered downstairs & asked if I wanted to go to the doctors' with him. Apparently, the pussy scab he's been squeezing has now progressed to the point of needing medical attention, as he can't continue his ju-jitsu training with an oozing sore. I know: gross.

So we went to the doctors'. I read about toddler separation anxiety while he got a prescription for antibiotics; then we returned home & he left to eat Indian food (he is obsessed with 2 things these days: ju-jitsu & Indian food). I had a surprisingly good time with him, despite the short rant on hydrogen peroxide.

"During the third trimester, approximately 50% of women experience some degree of backpain....You can minimize the amount of back-related pain you experience during pregnancy by protecting your back. Here are a few tips: Don't jog or participate in any other high-impact sport that may be jarring to your spine..."

- the mother of all pregnancy books

On Monday night, the Boy & I went out to the Dance Cave for our weekly dose of Shannon. It was intended to be something of a party: Little Spider called earlier to make sure that we were going, and Scherezade (back in town for a limited engagement) was supposed to come out dancing and then crash on our couch. Dirk had also confirmed attendance to 2 different people, so we were semi-sure that he'd make it (if he weren't sleeping). LS managed to drag out Morgan & her new beau, so although Scherezade never quite made it, we had a nicely full booth in between dance marathons.

Speaking of which, I discovered my dance limit. In the last few weeks, I've had a natural inclination to run to the bathroom every two songs or so. On Monday I ignored this impulse to dance through, "London Calling," "John, I'm Only Dancing," & "She Bop." You can see the punchline coming, can't you? Dancing like a bouncy ball while one has a 12-pound weight strapped to one's internal organs may be all right for some, but in my case I killed my back. For the rest of the night, I could feel it twinge and creak ominously, and as soon as I got into bed (at 3 am!) I was paying the price for my reckless boogying. I'm still paying it. Owie owie owie OW.

Still, I wouldn't have missed Monday night for worlds. Shannon's been in a bit of a slump this summer, but last night she caught fire. She was all the way back and it was glorious to witness. After we all danced to "These Boots" & "It's Not Unusual," I sat down sensibly and was treated to the rare sight of Shannon dancing by herself to "Copa Cabana," perched high above us in her dj's booth. As LS said again and again, she is so hot when she wants to be.

Also, I got to hear about Morgan's labour experience, as the intervening 9 1/2 years have completely wiped it from my memory. To her credit, she didn't just leap into the story, as other mothers are wont to do at the slightest provocation; she actually asked if I really wanted to hear about it. She says that right near the end of her 2-day labour (with nothing but Demerol, mind), she got up & started ripping tubes from her body, loudly proclaiming that she was done & going home goddamn it. When the doctor tried to stop her, she told him to fuck himself. Of course, it was all over soon after, and her good mood was restored by seeing Toad in his little incubator.

Little Spider & I spent a really long time talking about, well, everything: sex, maternity clothes, attractive men, music, good hair, the cuteness of dj Shannon... In fact, LS offered to show me dozens of ways to funk up my pixie cut, as I've now given up on even putting gel in. Since I can't be bothered to cook for myself most days, this really shouldn't come as much of a surprise. I like it when girls offer to do this kind of stuff with me. I'm such a miserable excuse for a girl (that is, I'm miserable at being a girl. I'm only occasionally a miserable girl). This is why I seek out non-sexual male companions, because they don't notice the lack of make-up or dress style. Although, if I was out with more hyperconscious fashion boys, maybe that would change, too.

(Entries like this are what happens when I have tea in the mornings. My mental process becomes a maze of hedges & monsters & dead ends & switchbacks. This is why I don't often drink tea in the mornings.)

The other reason I welcomed the hair tips is that I had out-butched my own previous record this Monday, and was feeling, well, really unfeminine. Not that I mind looking butch - if I can't do femme, I have to make my peace with the other extreme, and I can't and I have. I'm really sorry that she and Spike broke up this week, but I can't say that I'm sorry about having more Little Spider in my life. Hair tips notwithstanding, it's fun to create hairbrained schemes with her.

Booty Call: Day 159 - Baby's skin is wrinkled, translucent, and pink to red. If you could see your baby, you could see her bones, organs and vessels.