My thoughts on waiting are as follows. It feels awfully similar to the feelings of anxiety. Or maybe it’s more like depression. But either way all I really want to do is lie prostrate in my bed all day and sleep the day away. The only exception to the lovely escape of unconsciousness is binge watching a TV show, which is really just another form of sleeping anyways. I am currently watching the OC for the first time and it’s all very emotional. In the second episode Ryan comes up to Marissa’s front door and when she opens it she is of course dressed in her white catilion dress of which she cannot seem to get that last clasp closed. What’s a girl to do? Cue the feel music and then cut to Ryan’s eyes which are droopy like a puppy, then cut back to Marissa’s exposed and well tanned back with tantalizingly loose straps so as to draw the eyes down, and then finally a cut to her innocent smile - this is original shit people! The moment lasted far too long, I’m assuming to allow the viewer to fall instantly in love with their love.
I am one such viewer, and when I came out of my trance I celebrated one hour of not thinking about pregnancy. This is my life. I’ll take a fight scene ending with, “welcome to the oc, this is how we do it in newport” (that is an actual line), over my real life. This is all because I am waiting. My clock has been dipped in molasses and Saturday will never come, I will instead spend the rest of my existence wondering if that nausea I’m feeling is the little blue pill I love so much or a sign of pregnancy. No, I tell myself, it’s not pregnancy there’s no way it will work. It could be, I definitely feel different, I say. But really I’m not pregnant because the odds are so low and I should just accept this now, I say. There is no way to know, unless of course I took a pregnancy test, I say. No I should wait, I say. I AM WAITING UNTIL TOMORROW TO TEST, I SAY! I’m sorry about the all caps.
In a normal circumstance I might be able to land at the final statement, there is no way to know, and move on with my mental life but instead I begin the line of questioning from the top, “what’s that nausea for?” I ask myself.
While I’m ranting about life in a time warp I would also like to note that resting is only fun when you either, A. have a final to write that is due tomorrow, or B. are next to a pool with a margarita in hand and a good book. It is not fun however, when you feel very normal and would in fact like time to pass much more quickly than it is. This is the case in which the couch feels less like a beautiful place of sloth, and more like a prison of the soul. I have suddenly contracted restless leg syndrome (this is an actual diagnosis) and my legs hurt from not moving, they hurt. I would like to go for a quick sprint or lunge around my house. I am actually day dreaming about burpees, that terrible vomit inducing workout invented to punish football players, but I dream about them because my reality consists of lifting my leg up and down. I might take a quick moment and order some ankle weights from amazon to add some spice to my life. I need spice, my life is currently unsalted mashed potatoes, without cream or butter.
Am I being dramatic?
Maybe I should just run to the store to pick up the ankle weights so I can have them quicker. What they sell pregnancy tests there? Oh I don’t know, I didn’t think of that.