Feb 19, 2012 – Womanism is Confusing and Traumatic
19 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
in Being a Woman, Dreams, headache & migraine Tags: advil, birth control, dreams, fatigue, headache, migraine, pms, womanism
Womanism is confusing and traumatic.
In this quest to decrease the incidence of migraine, I am now off hormonal birth control.
Ovulation was weird.
Retaining water is weird.
Now I am super hungry and unable to stick to my diet.
Woke up with a vague fuzzy head/neck ache today.
Dreamt like crazy: at a random stuff exchange, I traded for a personal rain machine, which was voted the most useless invention of the year but one I thought was pretty awesome. When was the last time you really enjoyed a good drenching cold rain? I never do, but in this dream I did. I really did. I destroyed other people’s electronics, flooded every room I was in, and had a grand old time.
Couldn’t get out of bed till 11am.
It didn’t go away and just got worse.
Finally decided to cut it with 2XS Advil in the afternoon.
This time it worked. Thank goodness.
My limbs feel so heavy like they’re about to fall off.
And the whole super emotionally sensitive crying at stuff thing is starting.
Day 2 of Being Husbandless
22 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment
in Being a Woman, House and Home, Love and Marriage
No, nothing catastrophic happened. He’s just away on a weekend trip with the boys. But it has been interesting to see what happens when I am allowed to revert to what I am, away from an other.
I have sat around at home.
I haven’t done the dishes.
I haven’t talked much.
I only cook what I want, when I want.
I…really need to shower.
Good God it’s lonely.
So he’ll be back today and I’m sure he’ll have many fun stories to tell (and some that can probably never be told). And I’ll miss my weekend of bachelorettedom. But there will be another time. Perhaps next time I’ll even go do something productive.
So to each one of you reading this, I wish you an other, a someone:
Someone who inspires you every day.
Someone you wake up with each morning.
Someone you can wake up before each morning.
Someone you can wake up when they’re late for work.
Someone who gives good hugs.
Someone who is kind to you.
Someone who makes cool stuff.
Someone who is always excited to tell you about the cool stuff he/she is making.
Someone whom you can talk to.
Someone with whom you can be sad.
Someone with whom you can be what nobody else knows you are.
Of Flux and Dreams
08 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in Being a Woman, Dreams, House and Home, Love and Marriage, Peculiarly Awesome
“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep, because reality is finally better than your dreams” – Dr. Seuss
Usually the best dreams come when my hormones are in a state of flux. Of course, sometimes this fluctuating hormone situation manifests itself as 1.) female hysteria, or 2.) really slow fuzzy minded incapacity to make even the smallest rational decisions or put together a decent sentence, both of which could be attributed, in most ways, to #1.
Well, hell. Bring on the flux.
I seem to intermittently blog about this every so often (yes, redundant wording, I know), but when one wakes up from something fucking amazing one can barely help typing it all out to get it all out and rejoice and bask in the sensory overload before it disappears forever. Dreams: Fucking Awesome Nonsense Extreme Realities. So yes, the dreams part of it is fucking amazing. Things happen in vivid technicolour, a singular old couch becomes the meeting place for every and all for an impromptu picnic, love happens, book characters manage to work themselves into the flux (yes, I do believe Arthur Dent and Fenchurch may have been there, flying through the night), the Canucks are amazing people and players, people come and go and are met with great fun, style, and curiosity, great pains are taken with small measurements, chicken breasts get cooked with a clothes iron (do try the steam shot function!), and all sort of ridiculous marvelous otherwise than perfectly usual nonsense.
Then I wake up.
Sometimes it’s a real letdown.
But today, I woke up to a plate of pancakes on the bed and James Blunt blaring on the living room stereo and a funny husband who made both happen, who then laughed and danced and loved with me.
So sometimes life happens in Technicolour too.
Dear Self, One Day of Sunny Weather Does Not a Spring Season Make
18 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in Being a Woman, Personal Tags: 2011, blanket, cold, optimism, spring, storm, sun, victoria's secret, winter
Caught myself mindlessly surfing Victoria’s Secret online for summer tops and sundresses, etc…today being crackingly sunny and gorgeous after a freak winter storm yesterday. Oh dear. Dear, dear self. What are you thinking?
Dear Self,
one day of sunny weather does not a spring season make. Now stop being so optimistic and sunny minded, with all what this shopping and breathing in the smell of springtime and whatnotelse and go close the window and put on a sweater or something.
Love xoxo,
Self.
Dear Self,
You are evil. I will smell the air if I bloody well want to.
Love xxoo,
Self.
Dear Self,
Consider yourself warned, then. Nothing good can come of this daydreaming business but a sore nose and empty wallet. Oh well if you must, you must. Don’t like sweaters? How about a blanket? You love blankets! Blankets are fun!
Love xoxo,
Self.
Dear Self,
Alright, I’ll accept your proposal of a blanket. But the porch window stays open! And if you don’t agree with my daydreaming practices then I will just have to go to sleep wrapped up in your fancyarse blanket and just dream about springtime, then, eh? How do you like that?! You’re just jealous that I can smell springtime and you can’t.
Love xxoo,
Self.
Dear Self,
I can smell springtime too…now that you’ve FINALLY gotten over your bloody two month long cold. What a commoner you are. Common colds for common people.
Love xoxo,
Self.
Dear Self,
I love you too. Goodnight.
Love xxoo,
Self.
All About Women’s Underwear!
29 Jan 2011 1 Comment
in Being a Woman Tags: bra, panties, underwear, wedgie, women
Dear designers of fashionable women’s underwear,
Thank you for padding and pushing us with wire, lace, patterns, bows, and gravity-defying foam, making use of impossibly bright retina frying wundercolours of the fabric dye world, thus relieving us of the beige-white visible nipple topography that was an inevitable part of the boxed polyester wonderbra experience of our mothers and grandmothers.
Oh, but that’s just my exuberance for the top half! What you have done for the bottom quarter of the human population is even more phenomenal – what with your fancy low cuts and stretchy lace waistbands in an equally blinding selection of colours and designs in support of the general oppression of the granny panty stylings of the past.
However, I am wondering whose clever idea it was to create cute panties that have the unsavoury side effect of riding up into the darkest and most uncomfortable regions of one’s nethers at the slightest mention of extended movement or exercise? Yes, they look flirty and fantastic and cute and slightly provocative, but really, a fit yet miserable woman is truly an unattractive sight.
*pick, pick* 
<– No. I object.
I would like to propose an appropriate punishment for this torture device designer: a proper traditional tarring and feathering, to be promptly followed by the walking of a fairly long distance in said ridey-uppy panties, doing lunges at every kilometer marker, without the luxury of allowing him/herself to gingerly pick at the somewhat painfully wedged sweaty fabric of their unfortunate design. Yes. I think that should do.
Very well, I suppose I should end this letter cordially,
Cordially,
xoxo beverly
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