no peace, just clicking machines
When my cat is feeling affectionate, she likes to push her face into my hands and feet and elbows. She also does this thing where she stands on her two hind legs for as long as she can, which is only about a second, so I can reach her head when I’m standing or sitting on a tall chair. She walks on top of me when I’m lying in bed, and she finds a spot between my arm and my side where she can nuzzle me kindly. I love her so much, and she means as much to me as a person.
Okay. I’ve shared secrets here before. But this one feels extra personal. And my publishing this on my very public blog doesn’t mean that I need sympathy or empathy or words of encouragement and hope, or anything. I just need you to listen. And care, a little.
For the past two years, or so, I’ve been worried that I will be one of those girls (or women, I guess) who will not be able to produce a child of her own. I know, I know, I know. I’m still young. And I won’t know until I try.
There are things that I just know. Even before they happen. I’m not psychic–if I were, I would use my powers to win more bets, to make a more prosperous and exciting life for myself. I think they call it intuition. And I think I’ve been given this intuition so as not to be broken by a surprise later on.
It’s strange to be writing about this. It must be even more strange to read about it. From me. Most of the time, I feel like a kid myself. And I’m fine with that. But I know that one day, I’ll want to grow up and create a family of my own. And I’m terrified that I won’t be able. So, that’s why I think God gave me Zuko. It sounds silly, right? But if I can love my cat so much, I won’t be too overwhelmed by the absence of the love I’d have given to someone else. When I see Daniel holding my cat and seeming to love her just as much as I do, I think, Good. Because I have unwarranted doubts about my fertility.
So, there. I don’t think I can write much else about this. Maybe this should become more secret again, because I see now how much I’ve said. Right now, at this very moment, I’m relieved to have shared this. I thought that saying it aloud would help me realize how crazy I was and how none of this makes any sense. But even if it didn’t, something about it still feels nice. I guess I just feel less alone now. And that’s nice.
We can talk about it in comment/email form. But, I will not appreciate any chatting. So, thanks for reading this.