Modus NonOperandi

Yesterday, I felt like a little rice cooker completely under pressure, with its cover bubbling up and down from the steam. I felt hot when I woke up so I took my temperature which was 101. I considered calling in sick again, I could barely walk in a straight line, but what was I going to do? Lay in bed for the 4th consecutive day in a row? I forced myself into the office and I have to say, I started to feel better as soon as I started responding to emails and being my productive cubicle-sequestered self. I felt alive, like, thank God I have a brain to use.

In addition to catching up on work, I reviewed and signed the listing agreement for the sale of my condo. Looks like I’m selling since I autographed all those pages yesterday. In the end, I realized it’s better to be completely free of the condo. It’s not in a hot neighborhood. Who knows how long rents will remain high? I might as well cash out and be done with it. Sayonara!

Selling brings a whole host of decisions and tasks that make me want to jump off of the soon-to-be-dazzling Bay Lights Bridge. But I will save all that goodness for another post.

It was a jam-packed work day. Mind you, I have the flu. I only want to go to bed after work. Instead of heading home, I take the MUNI cross-town to my acupuncturist appointment. Dean has the appointment after mine. When I finish, Dean greets me and the acupuncturist says, “Feel better, Catherine, I’ll see you next week.”

I’m confused because Dean’s supposed to be doing acupuncture too and instead we’re both walking out the door. He explains that it’s too stressful for him to get to the appointment in time given his commute. Fine, I get that. He adds that she asked if he wanted a referral to an acupuncturist close to his work and he said no.

That’s when I lost it.

I cannot single-handedly conceive Ghost Baby when the 2 of us both have infertility issues. I have done everything in my power to correct the situation. I have undergone more than my fair share of blood work, procedures, prescriptions, injections. I do acupuncture. I have completely (and unhappily) examined every ingredient that goes into my body. I submit the receipts. I fill out the paper work for reimbursement. None of this stuff is free. I am not going to say I do everything, but damnit, I do a good majority of it.

Where has all this gotten me? Let’s check the stats.

79 pounds (thank you tasteless, disgusting, gluten-free, alcohol-free, sugar-free diet for putting me nowhere close to my goal of 91 pounds)

1 influenza virus

0 ghost baby

I do feel self-conscious airing my dirty laundry publicly, but at the same time, I feel like other people never do. So there’s this perception that people who write blogs it’s all about travel and design and unicorns. Next thing you know, you read that some famous blogger is getting divorced and you wonder was she ever for real? With all her gazillion posts, was she ever upfront about her genuine life. I mean, these are not fairy tales we are writing. These are factual accounts of our lives.

My blog is real. Like this is me. The real, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, always OCD me. We do a lot of fun stuff. We travel, do staycations, enjoy all the amazing things that San Francisco has to offer. But we also have problems just life everyone else. And it wouldn’t make sense if all I wrote about was Disneyland. If you haven’t noticed, this ain’t utopia.