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Shaking off the dust

Ugh, writing a blog is hard in 2019.


Literally as I typed that sentence, my computer browser crashed and gave me the little "aw, snap!" guy.


Literally as I typed THAT sentence, Ryan handed me this salad:


Then literally as I typed THAT sentence, Ryan started in on me: "What are you working on?"


Nothing, at this rate. Absolutely nothing.


I did expect when I started this blog to have a bit of difficulty coming up with regular posts. I tried setting a goal for myself of writing two times a week, and as you can see from my last trip on here, I've failed miserably at that.


It's just that it's hard --


(aagghhh the motherfucking "aw, snap!" guy just got me again! Google, what is going on with this Chrome browser!?)


-- it's harder to work through the distractions.


(browser crashed again)


I'd say I'm busier now than I was when I was writing my dating blog in 2010, but the truth is I'm not. I'm equally as busy; I'm just filling my time differently. Instead of going on dates, my time is allocated to being with my husband and dogs. Instead of getting myself into wacky situations on the weekends, I'm doing yard work and turning in early. And, probably most importantly (if we're being real here), instead of blogging, I'm messing around on my phone.


The honest to god biggest difference between 2010 and today is that I got a goddamn iPhone and started playing Candy Crush and Pokemon Go. It is so fucking embarrassing to admit that, but that here we are.


I feel like I'm wasting my life on my phone. Is this an addiction? I've heard people describe it as an instant dopamine hit. I've tried putting it down, saying I'm going to look at it less so many times, and I just keep coming back to it. My nightly routine is to mess around playing games while watching TV. I don't write because my brain is turned off and I'm doing this instead. If in 2010 I had an iPhone and Tinder existed, I would have never written a blog at all, I fear.


I seriously feel drained of creativity. And I'd blame THAT on all my IVF stuff... and well, there is an ounce of truth in that. The IVF stuff is draining me on the whole, and I feel like a broken record talking about it. It's taking up a big chunk of my brain space these days. But again, the creativity drain definitely started way before we even began discussing IVF. It's the goddamn phone.


This might be a bit of a rambling post. Just bear with me. It's like when your legs fall asleep while you're sitting on top of them on the couch and then you get up to go to the bathroom and you kind of stumble a bit because you can't quite feel your legs. I'm stumbling through this post right now.


I want to do this more. I miss having the words. Part of me wants to believe that if I just sit down and make this a priority that the words will come flooding back. But I think another part of me deep down wonders if 2010 was all I had in me and there's nothing left. Maybe I'm blaming this on my phone but it's really because I used everything up nine years ago and I'll never accomplish anything creatively again.


And as I'm writing this, I think I might be having a bit of a revelation: It bothers me so bad that I can't come up with the words because I also can't come up with a child. Things are still not working out for me in that department, and I don't know what that makes the future look like.


Right now, I feel like a hostage in my own life. From the last time I updated, our 17 fertilized eggs dropped down to eight blastocysts, which were frozen and biopsied. Of those eight, we have three genetically normal embryos chilling in a lab in Arlington, just waiting for my body to get in gear. But that has been a whole other struggle. I was supposed to do an embryo transfer on Aug. 13, but my uterine lining stubbornly tapped out at 6 mm and the doctors like to see it at a minimum of 8 mm. My transfer date got pushed back and pushed back until finally the doctor decided to scrap the transfer in favor of a procedure called an ERA, in which I'm the thing being biopsied to check for "implantation receptivity" in my uterus. All of that is to say that actually ending up with a baby seems frustratingly far away right now, and because this all includes meds that have to be refrigerated and injected, and doctors visits, and money out the wazoo, I have to be somewhat of a recluse because I can't stray too far from my house/this area and I wouldn't have the money to do anything even if I tried.


Even in my darkest days of dating rejection, I still was able to find the humorous parts of it. With this, nothing is funny and everything sucks.


(Well, I guess considering my last entry, the needle artwork is kind of funny. Harrumph.)


Ugh. This post has no point or structure. Like my life!!!


By the way, the "aw, snap!" guy got me several more times throughout the writing of this... whatever this is. It's barely a blog post. It's stream of consciousness but less interesting.


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