scarlet d

something stirs inside of me, retained blood, new tissue. four days late today and three faint lines have appeared. he's still not convinced, but i'm certain. i feel it. how this will put a crimp in us, i'm not sure. how it will make us flourish, i don't know. seven years between the first two, now just over one between the second set. will i make just as lovely a princess bride with a six-month baby by my side?

i dreamt of two. one would be an overabundance at this point.

they were good to me, perhaps too much. i may have conceived behind their backs, above their heads, speckling their son with tiny mulberry clusters so they'd have to avert their eyes from his neck in the morning.

i taunted him in ways i shouldn't have. he blushed and laughed nervously. typical me, i've overstepped my bounds, overestimated the power i have over myself.

a big hand turns a big dial

inspired vision borne of pessimism today while surrounded by her droning voice and the throbbing knowledge in my head that the number she presented was wrong, wrong, wrong on principle. it was she, not he, who showed me the way. it was she, not he, who took my hand and led my down the real path. tiny fingers wrapped ar0und mine, bright eyes peering up at me in comforting role reversal, she dug me out of my recesses. he wasn't there to water me the way i'd thought he'd be. she tugged and cajoled. and tears ran down my face even as i squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting reiki to know she'd had an effect on me. but she saw anyway, then she stood behind me and fiddled with my chakra and my legs grew leaden and fiery.

i am not sure what to do with him and his shame and his looking and his privacy. wrote an opus during stress manifesto today, and i'm sure i'll crumple it. the flitting processing hasn't helped. the catharsis i used to find so readily simply refuses to come. abdominal problems reflect troubled relationships: i couldn't shit for weeks and now, awakened by such pain, then by him lost again in the pleasure of his dreams. our planes are not intersecting. in so many ways, he's still fourteen and i'm his irritated and irritating mother breathing down his back. but if i'd wanted two kids i would have kept the other.

the next chapter is solitude, something i've only had in morsels and don't particularly crave but he had buffet style and aches for every day.