I don't know what you call it.

I stormed out of the office, so angry I was shaking.  No one person, thing, or event inspired the rage - just a perfect storm of everything, as always; just another Fourth Monday.  (Or Thursday, as you probably know it.)

I was going to come home and rage and pound on my keyboard until all the anger was gone.  I was going to bitch about the incompetent motherfucker who promises the moon and then does NOTHING to make sure his promises are actually possible.  I was going to rant about the stupid effing Outlook that can't do a simple query without locking up and requiring a restart.  I was going to complain about the asshole who milked us for medical leave while he tried to find a job that would allow him to break DOT rules, then filed for unemployment on the basis of hostile environment because we wouldn't let him work a schedule he set.

I'm not going to do that, though.  That won't fix anything.  I'm going to be glad that I have a job.  I'm going to be glad I've got a computer to assist me in doing my job, even if it makes me get violent every 45 minutes or so.  I'm going to be glad I've got a folder of documentation that will easily dismiss the unemployment claim.

Problems all solved.  My dog was waiting for me at the door, so excited to see me.  Jimi put the leftover pasta from dinner into the fridge last night, instead of leaving it on the stove as I would've done, so I've got that for lunch now.  Finn was happy to cuddle up on the JaxxSac with me, licking my arm while I rubbed his belly; I like to smell his sweet puppy head.  It's hard to be mad when you're petting a puppy.

And what's the point?  It doesn't solve anything.  All my anger accomplishes is getting my blood pressure up.

As I sat at the light at 4th and Central, waiting for mine to turn green, a little old lady started to cross the intersection on the opposite side.  I glanced up to my right; the cross-light was yellow now - back to the old lady - yep, she'll be almost to my lane right as the light turns green.  "Fuck!", I think, pissed off that this little old lady is going to hold me up for 15 seconds.  I felt the rising up of the madness, the injustice of it all - that insanity rushing up through me like a wave - then I noticed how her long coat was whipping around her sweat-pant-clad legs, and how her hair was all messed up - it's windy and cold and rainy here today, just a real yucky day to be walking outside.  And this little old lady, who's probably cold as hell all the time anyhow, she's out in this nastiness, having to walk to the grocery or the bank or the pharmacy from God-only-knows-where, under God-only-knows-what circumstances - and I've got the gall to be pissed off that she's "inconveniencing" me for a quarter of a minute?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I get so wrapped up in me.  My life, my head, my wants, needs, desires.  It's all about me.  What's easiest for me, what's best for me, what's most convenient for me.  Forget everyone else, so long as I'm comfortable and content.

You know what, I wasn't going to write about this because it's so personal and hard to talk about without worrying that I sound like a crazy person, but I keep trying to think of everything BUT this and I just found myself crying instead and that's just not okay.  I'm not pregnant, and it bothers the fuck out of me.  I know, I know, I KNOW - there's time, it'll happen when it happens, if it's meant to be it will be, it's just not my turn yet - I KNOW.  I get it.  I do.  I swear.  And you know what?  Maybe it'll never be my turn and maybe that's for the best and that's all well and good, but goddammit would someone please tell my fucking heart and brain?  It's the first thing I think when I wake up in the mornings - "Am I pregnant?" - until I start bleeding, again, and then it becomes this quagmire of "maybe it'll never be your turn, Natalie.  Maybe you're not meant to be a mother.  You'd probably be horrible at it anyhow.  And you know Jimi doesn't really want to make a baby with you.  Look at you - who would?  Besides, you're too much of a quitter and a fuckup and far too selfish to ever be able to raise a productive member of society - it's for the best that you don't contribute one more screwed up person to the world."

I don't want to think about this anymore.  I want to be able to say I'm going to live my life and see what happens and not worry about it and mean it.  I want to not go into a depression every time I start my period.  I don't want to feel a panic set in when I'm mid-cycle, thinking "OMG gotta have sex NOW!"  How romantic.  I don't want to be this person.  I don't like her and I think she's more crazy than I'm comfortable with.

But damn I want to have a baby.  I'll be 31 next month; Jimi will be 40 in December.  My biological clock is SO FUCKING LOUD.

I wish I'd never gotten pregnant.  I wish I'd never known.  I wish I'd not paid attention to my cycle enough that I'd not even noticed that I was late. I wish I'd never seen that second line.  I wish I'd never gotten excited.  I wish I'd never experienced any of it - I wouldn't be this person now if that little cluster of cells had never existed.

I've said many times that my life is nothing like I'd planned; I was going to go to college, get married, have a few babies before 30, and live happily ever after.  What if life is REALLY like nothing I'd planned - what if babies never factor in?

Dear Natalie Of The Future:

If they've invented time machines, now would be a great time to find a way to send me some sort of sign 

- do I get to be a Momma or not? 

 I think I can handle it either way, it's this waiting and wondering shit that blows goats.  

Thanks for your help,

Crazy 

Non-Momma 

Still-Mourning-For-The-One-We-Almost-Had-Even-Though-I-Try-To-Pretend-I'm-Over-It 

Natalie

So maybe it's not my job that's the problem.