Today's post is brought to you by Dr. Moo's FB status...

In her own words...

It wasn't the grossest thing ever, I think the main factor is that when my uterus is kind of crampy and angry, I shouldn't be fishing stinky bits out of somebody else's uterus.
It was a first calf heifer with hind legs dangling from her vulva by skin. There was some sort of pink creamy GI on the ground that had fallen out of the stinky, gelatinous... See More dead calf. The heifer was chowing down on it and had a pink milk mustache.
It wasn't your typical rotten emphysematous fetus where everything is bloated and dry. There was plenty of fluid that came pouring out at me with every contraction. I reached in for the rib cage and what I pulled out included a head but when it flopped on the ground, I realized there were no bones. That is when I gagged. I fished the rest of it out bit by bit from a sea of stinky fluid. The heifer was fine but kind of pissed we wouldn't let her eat the rest of the junk I pulled out. The End

Balls

Made my way over to my friend Lydia's last night to share my pirogi. I'm glad I went. She's a very curious (in a good way) individual and we really click. For all the lack of man in my life, there's more than enough woman to make up for it-by which I mean I have a lot of women friends. I'm really grateful for them.

We talked about ways of looking at the world. Lydia tends to find her life to be satisfying-and her husband told her perhaps this isn't due so much to her creating a positive outcome by way of her positive energy as it was that no matter what the outcome, she was OK with it-more judgment than cause and effect, if you catch my drift.

I felt lighter after talking with her, and better about my situation. Later, I felt like shit again.

A few days ago, I had a bizarre, apocalyptic dream and watched War of the Worlds for the first time the day after; my dream and the movie were similar, though on more of a meta-level.

In the dream the world was obliterated and everyone went underground. I was carrying around a baby and a kitten and was super-worried about them; they ended up dying and I felt relieved. I eventually made my way above ground and encountered a race of baboon-men -- they'd chop the heads off baboons and replace them with human ones, because the bodies of the humans were destroyed. I watched the surgery. WTF, subconscious? I also am developing TMJ. The Paulist Center happens to have a Jungian analyst in residence and I am considering paying him a visit. And I must add that one of the many upsides to years of therapy is the ability to not freak out over things like this and instead look at it as an opportunity for growth. I just need to figure out how to grow.

Anyhoo, I'm working on a story this week; it's due Friday. It's kicking my ass. I've looped back into hyper-perfect mode and I have got to get myself out. So if anyone wants to send me some bust-through-the-block energy, I'll take all you can spare.

In other McPolack news, Beefy Chunks had his balls off and made a new friend.

Talk to youse laters, alligators.

Back to the beginning

In some ways my 30s feel like childhood again, mostly the fact that so much seems to happen in so little time. Mostly this would be what's happening to my ovaries. I don't feel particularly more or less ready to have children, but the lady parts are aging rapidly.

I suppose this means on some level that I'm immature. Actually, that would be on the head level. On the crotch level, I am definitely 36. Heh heh.

Lately I am considering either, a, making my blog invitation-only, or b, doing away with it all together. I feel ready for something different in my life.

I am so popular

Last week was a busy one. I had a good, long conversation about family and what it means to be heading for 40 and whether God exists with one friend, and visited a teeny craft market in Union Square with another. I lifted a four-year-old up on my shoulders so she could put a star on top of a Christmas tree. I shopped for, and finally bought, an MOH dress. Walnut helped. She was very understanding of how much I hated my hips that day. And I hated them a lot. (The dress, BTW, is an iridescent sort of burnished gold taffeta, strapless, with a wee train.)

Sunday I had crepes with the four-year-old from Friday, who had just braved a flu shot. Then I went downtown to pick up the dress. Then I ate sweet potato, chick peas, and jasmine rice at Walnut's, and wondered again at how much life I feel I've already lived, and how incredibly short it seems at the same time. I guess I'm worried I'm not moving forward fast enough. Like since I'm not getting married I need to do something else equally momentous, drive some stake in the ground that says this is who I am as an adult. But I have absolutely no clue what that stake looks like. And I really wish there was someone to hold the stake steady for me.

Anyhoo. It is what it is. And of course it's not all bad. This, for instance, exists (NSFW):

Guntram Müller's MüllerCize It! (part 1) from Thomas Lennon

Yay for me

Went to a networking event tonight; talked to nine people, gave out and got back five business cards and had some interesting conversations. I spoke with a couple of women who run their own businesses. It felt good. I was confident. I am confident.

Now it's cookie-eating time, followed by snuggle time with the furbina, who is sitting in her basket at my feet.

Checkin' in with Gee-zus

Went back to Mass this Sunday after some time away, and at the Paulist Center to boot. Tonight I went back to Taize at the Methodist church and it was just what I needed. I'm jumping back into writing this week. It's not a particularly compelling topic in the grand scheme of things but I can't help but take it very seriously. I'm still working out the balance between a healthy amount of fear around the writing process versus an incapacitating amount.

I forgot to talk Turkey Day so here's a story from this year's event: We were sitting around discussing adoption; specifically, one group of relatives was trying to convince the daughter of my cousin T that her grandfather, my uncle D, was adopted. And Spanish. With the middle name "Juan." They really got her going. Later, I mentioned another cousin, who in fact had been adopted. "Wait a minute," said yet another cousin, "I thought that was a joke."

O Tannenbaum

Did you know you could get a permit for just 5 bucks, then hike up into the White Mountains and cut your own Christmas tree? I remembered hearing something about this last year. This year I did some investigating. And found this.

I mentioned to both PolackPappy and McMumsy that I'd really love to hike partway up, say, the Moose, chop down an adorable little pine tree, lash it to my backpack, then drive it home. It could sit in my back seat! Well, insofar as trees sit. I was thinking of getting a three-and-a-half-footer. Then I'd have some of the mountains in my house. Later, I could drive it back to NH and recycle it.

I mean, is this awesome or what?

Or what would be Mcm and Pp's answer. "You'd end up spending 30 bucks on gas," said Pp. True enough. But if I get depressed enough, I'm tossing my boots, my crampons, and an axe into my backpack and I'm heading north.