I am on what the youngsters call "Spring Break", I have never really participated in Spring Break, other than when I was in High School on our Senior trip, where we were kicked out of the town of Gore, and told to never return from the sheriff.
I did have a little too much fun this weekend with my weekend warrior mentality. Saturday was a little different because I got to participate in the social activities of a Baby Shower.
One of my dear BudGirls had a baby shower. Yes, for those who do not know, I was a Bud Light promotional girl. Which this job pretty much entailed my friends and I getting into all of the best places, meeting famous people, drinking, and handing out free things. It was very hard work; there were nights when I didn't even want to drink. But I pushed through for the good-of-the-job.
Continuing on, while I was finding out I was incapable of having children, my two best friends found out they were pregnant. The timing almost felt too cruel to be unintentional.
I love these two girls more than anything, but I had never felt so alone with the idea of my two best friends are now pregnant, and I was left out of the pact.
Not that they made a pregnancy pact, but I have heard about those and they are pretty common, and oh, so strange.
The shower was lovely, someone even brought a live baby for entertainment, but I found myself sitting in the corner, shoveling my body-weight in cold-cut pinwheels down my throat and drinking the alcoholic punch. I was swimming in sea of pregnant woman, and even 'drinking the water' wouldn't change my fate.
It sure is sounding like a Pregnancy Pact, now.
I spoke a few times with what could be taken as inappropriate comments. One, of course, asking about birthing techniques. I am more of a visual learner.
The patrons were less than pleased with my vaginal birthing hand motions.
Whenever I feel awkward I say the wrong things, and do the wrong things.
Lucky for me, I didn't make any dead baby jokes, or joke about playing football with the baby as the ball.
Something is very wrong with me.
We did go out to take a picture of my two favorite preggers and I together, and one had asked about my surgery.
Suddenly everyone got quiet, and I try to light-heartedly tell my impotence of being a woman, with a smile on my face.
It all was seemingly creepy, and forced happiness.
I love being a part of these monumental times in my friends lives, but it does something to you, where you want to go home and drown your sorrows in a bottle of your finest Pinot Noir.
Luckily, I do have my 3 week post-operation appointment tomorrow. I am enlivened because, I am anticipating to get cleared to go back to work.
I feel more complete when I feel like I am doing something worthwhile with my time.
I just feel useless and broke.
I just want to get ahead.
I want to do something crazy.
I want to live for the story instead of continuously writing the same bullshit over and over again.
When the hell do you get over it? When does it stop haunting you?
I sound like a broken record.
I am annoyed by my own self. I have to find my adventure and go.
Forget all this ever even happened.
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