The New Sense

Monday, June 24, 2002

So I phoned the gyno at the end of the morning to pre-empt them phoning me at home and making B— all suspicious when they didn't leave a message. I still can't believe it, even though I was totally expecting it. What the hell do I do now?
I wish it had been a regular quiet Monday at work instead of a holiday. I was a complete space cadet. And now I'm thinking, "Should I be drinking? Will it harm the baby?" Harm the baby!!! If mom was here she'd probably suggest I drink a bottle of gin and go bareback horseriding down a mountain while smoking a pack of Gitanes.
What the hell am I gonna do? I work in a bar, don't know my boyfriend's real name, he's either a fugitive or a paranoid lunatic, and in nine months' time I'll be nursing a little bundle of confusion. I've got to talk to someone about this. Olga? Maybe, but she's not exactly made lots of wise 'life choices'. Kelly? She's only made fewer bad choices than Olga because she's a lot younger. Molly and Polly? That's a good one. Molly would probably say she hopes it's a boy so she can start corrupting him in fifteen years' time while Polly will immediately go out and buy him a cute little leather baby outfit with punky spikes that have been rounded off to prevent the poor little tyke getting hurt.
And it's a full moon tonight, so there are a bunch of crazies running around, blaring car horns, yelling and laughing. B— is still online. His adoption search doesn't seem to be bearing fruit. Oh, god! — 'bearing fruit' — it's all about reproduction!

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posted by Sara