I’m kind of heavy-headed and groggy right now, but I thought I’d record some thoughts, anyway.

Amazingly, I haven’t heard from Evie, who’s been back from CA for a while now. Is she just busy? Or does she feel I’m too distant and don’t want to bother with her? Is there something else? Well, I won’t contact her unless she contacts me.

Yesterday was a really shitty, frustrating, depressing day.

First, though, we ripped the portable AC out of the back room wall, since in just a few hours from now we won’t need it.

What happened to me shocked the shit out of me. It’s really fucking scary to think that as a non-smoker, I can still wake up with bad attacks. I thought those days were over. You mean, I still have to live in fear of knowing that that can happen as a non-smoker? I thought my bouts of wheezing and my allergies would be gone with the cigarettes, but I was wrong. I still have bad allergies and I wheeze a little every day. I still need my inhaler once or twice a day. Yes, I’m much better overall since quitting, but to have this reality slammed into me in an instant that this old enemy is not entirely gone really freaks me out. It happened at that cursed fourth hour of sleep and it felt like something was literally lodged in my lungs. I had a pain in between the shoulder blades. For the first time since quitting, Tom had to whack my back to help kick up all the goop that was in my lungs. I thought at first I could cough it up in just a matter of minutes. Right! It took closer to an hour to settle the fucking thing. One really can never be totally free of old enemies, can they?

Later…

I still don’t want a child these days. I know that I’d just end up more miserable than I could ever imagine and than I’ve ever been before and that it’s something I could never handle. But this man of mine still says he does. Then why the excuses? He won’t go to a doctor and doesn’t think I should right now, either. But just last month he said I should do something and see a doctor. I’m tired of this man jerking me around, saying one thing then another, and playing on my emotions with this issue. He says we shouldn’t go to a doctor till we have full-time sex. Even if we could have full-time sex and even if we both wanted that, that’s irrelevant. What’s that got to do with my being sterile? We don’t need to prove to ourselves any more that I’m sterile. We both know it. He said he feels there’s a 95% chance I’m sterile. And I know I am. My gut instinct and woman’s intuition have always told me that, but despite his lame excuses and his games, lies, and the way he jerks me around, God made me how I am for a reason. It’s for a reason. He wanted me this way for a reason and if he feels I should be sterile, so do I.

I would love to know what’s wrong with me. I’m curious to know what it is. Is it my eggs? My uterus? But I’m afraid I won’t have his support. He told me months ago that not only would he make an appointment for himself, but that I should do something about my situation, rather than bitch about it. And now I come to find out that he wants us to screw up a storm first? Fuck that shit! And how he wants me to be tolerant of how he is in bed. So in other words, he wants me to just let him do what he wants to do in bed, and put off going to a doctor for as long as possible, if not forever, right? After getting nowhere with this man year after year as far as finding out what’s wrong with me, I guess I can count on the fact that I’ll never know the cause of my fertility problem. All I can ever know is that there is a problem. But did the DES do it? Did the years of different medications do it? What did it? I know God did it, but what method did he use to ensure my sterility?

What with how I’ve always been cursed with sex, and what with this sterility, like it or not, something up there surely has a beef against my womanhood and sexuality. Something’s really wanted to twist and toy with that and boy has it succeeded!