Donny

It's Friday.  Which means I treat myself to our local cafe's egg sandwich on the way to work.  I ran in quickly ( I never put money in the meter) and my favorite waitress already had my tea ready as I waited at the counter.  And then, a familiar brown tweed at the counter began to speak.

"Are you a christian? I think you are.  I knew you were when I met you last. I knew you were a sister."

Remember a few posts ago when I outlined how my getting to work on time was deterred by a talkative alcoholic in need of a best friend?  Looks like he found one.  It appears as if I'll be meeting the elderly gentleman on Friday mornings for breakfast (me an egg and cheese sandwich and a black tea with milk, his preference whole wheat, buttered toast and a green tea) in which he will explain his undying affection for the Red Cross woman with the blue hair and I will get to marvel at how quickly he can speak and eat at the same time.

We may over look people and things God puts in our way the first time, but never- never the second.  There's no way around it. Donny and I are fated to be life-long friends.  And, I will never be on time for work ever again.  Especially if he doesn't get up the guts to ask blue-haired lady out this week.  Geesh.

Wanted: My Creativity

I've lost it.  It has officially been consumed by demanding A.P. students needing college recommendations. Squashed by the pile of dishes in the sink that have begun to waft unnatural odors through my living room doors.  Stifled by this growing child within me that seems to need every ounce of nutrition, energy, patience and sleep I come across on a daily basis.

I have no creativity.

I have not written anything that could even resemble a song, a poem, a chapter in one of the two novels that been in progress for two years now- even a haiku.  Nada.

I have alternated chicken and pasta for weeknight meals.  No Indian Biryani that once graced our table.  No homemade bread or almond torte or even hot chocolate from scratch.  Thank you, Swiss Miss.

I have not rearranged furniture.  Redecorated my bedroom.  Thought about patterns for the nursery.

In fact, it took me a disconcerting 20 minutes to write this minuscule, scattered post which is just another dismal reflection of my lack of creative juices.

Someone help me find it.  

Plight of the Pregnant

You know what I'm talking about.  I'm thinking about those beautiful pregnant woman you see in the windows of little yoga studios, barely sweating.  Barely showing.  The ones who have stock piled onesies in every color as soon as two little pink lines showed up on the strip.  The ones who eat fruit and yogurt for breakfast, take a nap and then meander over to the tea shop for a cup of decaffeinated green-jasmine, looking all pink and glowing and stunningly gorgeous and happy.

I hate them.

I hate them as I'm sitting at my desk in my empty classroom trying to cover my green pallor with blush.  I hate them as the cafeteria wafts distinctive smells that signify that it is somehow, yet again, chili-cheese dog day and praying that I will make it to the toilet at the end of the third wing in time to vomit for the umpteenth time in the last few days.  I hate them as my waistline expands into a strange, foreign blob that looks less like its harboring a child than a food baby.  I hate them because no one told me it could be miserable enough to count down the days until delivery...at just 16 weeks.

Well, I'm telling you now.  I hate being pregnant.  I love the idea of raising a family with my husband- the beautiful way God enabled me to provide for my child what I didn't have: a two parent household that is unified.  I love that our kid will be read to and sung to and cooked for and played with. I love that s/he'll have a home to come to, that God's promises are written all over our family.  But I hate this process.  I hate the hormones, I hate the crying, I hate the illness, I hate the weight gain, I hate the fatigue, I hate the pressure.  I also hate that I have the inability to utilize my once coveted tact- and be honest about everything.

So, dear, glowing, beautiful, tea-drinking, yoga participating mama-to-be, please don't take it personally. I just hate you right now.