"Blame is much too messy..."

For the record, I will never apologize for expressing myself verbally; even to my mother.
I think it's a sign that I've reached a turning point in my life that she said I was "un-Shermanlike" and it didn't hurt my feelings. I'm not a Sherman. I'm not any of my names, legal or otherwise. I don't know what I should call myself, but nothing I've tried on so far has really fit. Can't I just be Kristyn?

snip snip snip

The surgery is done and the offending ovary has been sent to a path lab to be cut into bits under a microscope, which is a far better fate than it deserves after all the pain it has caused me over the past ten years. Bastard. Apparently it was covered in small cysts, so the birth control pills were not controlling them like they were supposed to... as I had assumed, since the pain never went away.
Now I have four and a half days to lay around and do nothing in a narcotic haze. I plan on reading a few books, catching my journal up on my life and working on my book or the new poems. (Yes, plural-- I've got two rough drafts, recently inspired.)
At the moment I'm going to dose myself with Demerol and crawl into bed; hopefully without Fatty-Cat leaping onto my belly any time soon.

Grief

Sunday my aunt and uncle went out to a concert. Ella was left with a work friend. The week before that when they went out she was left with someone else, who was also not me. Both were nights I would have made myself readily available. I had a little nervous breakdown yesterday, with the crying in the shower and the shaking and sleeping for 16 hours. Today there was crying in the office and outside and taking too many smoke breaks. I texted my aunt and asked blatantly if I could ever expect to see Ella again and got no response. I guess that's my answer.
I feel like a little part of me died. One of the bright, shiny pieces that I would have liked to keep. One of the happy pieces. And I can't make it come back.
This is what happens when I let myself love too much; both with Bryan and with the baby. It makes me hurt. It makes me lose pieces of myself. It makes me weak.
I really don't think he's ever going to let me see her again. And there's nothing I can do, I have no rights. He blames me, he doesn't care what was happening to me, and he's angry. I can't fix that.
I just miss her so much. She's the one thing in my life that always made me smile, no matter how depressed I was. There were a few times I was in so much pain from my headaches that I honestly wanted to die, but she would smile at me and I would feel better, just for a minute. Now I don't even get to hear her voice.
I guess in fifteen years I can talk to her again, if she remembers who I am.

"It's only love, but love has been hurting so long..." Heather Nova

Flying

And why do I have to wait a month to get the 401k money when I need it like yesterday? Because the universe hates me? Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.
I'm using it to go to Portland and see my Kyle. I'm sure the car payment will work itself out.

Hot

There's a lot to be said for friends who are so generous they allow you to live in their place for free (with a cat who poops on the floor, even). But, Jesus Christ, how much do I miss central air? I actually got sweaty last night. Yuck.