I’m still in a mood about Paris – can’t stay there for two and a half years without caring when it goes through one of its periodic freak-outs. But looking over Costume Jewelry I realized I’m doing a lousy job of the obsessive navel-gazing the forum was designed for. So, here goes.Little G and I talked about birth control pills a few days ago. She just started for the first time for medical reasons, and so far is happy, and I was happy she was happy. Happiness! She asked how I’d felt about them after using them awhile, and I said (thoughtlessly – reefer madness) I hated them and was glad to be off them. She asked why, and I had to think. It's not the idea the sex drive suffers; I'm pretty sure that feeling is just your body knowing you shouldn't be sexing the man in question before your brain does. And it’s not out of a passion for interrupting fine loving to stick icky latex between me and my fine lover. So I said, I don’t like them because they even me out. Little G gave me a look.
Yes, I know. We’re supposed to be evened out, aren’t we? Even out my fine round ass, says I. Unless we’re suffering a clinical state that stops us from getting out of bed or makes us attack ourselves or the people around us, we should embrace our swinging moods. I’m willing to tolerate all sorts of melancholy if I get the corresponding highs. I wouldn’t be pissy about Paris now if the city hadn’t enchanted me; I wouldn’t have had to wipe my weepy, non-smoking nose with cigarettes from time to time over men if those men hadn’t made me happy and enthusiastic; and I wouldn’t get into a bitch-funk over my lifestyle if I didn’t aspire to something nicer that I've tasted and want to taste again. Even myself out? Fuck that. The aftermath of menopause will do it for me someday anyways.
Ah, the voice of madness. It’s probably on my mind because I’m in a really nice maudlin state at the moment. This morning, as I was listening to Bill Withers sing ‘Grandma’s Hands’ in the sunshiny crisp weather, I shed maybe four tears. Even though my Nona died before I was born and Granny, still around, is nothing like Bill Wither’s grandma. I reckon I have the luxury of embracing the vagaries of my moods because I live alone with a really tolerant cat. Whenever one of my moods pisses her off, I just have to scratch her neck for a minute. As pictured.
10 commenti:
i associate a really long shitty period in my life with the birth control pill. i started taking it for the guitar-player hotness and stopped taking it when i got back from Montreal (about 5 years) - everything in my life took a turn for the better after i stopped taking it, which made me wonder.
about a month or two after i stopped taking the pill, a friend of mine who had also stopped taking it after a decade of being on it asked, "do you feel different? I feel like a fog was lifted." we discussed how much better we could think and feel once we got off the pill.
So, i dunno. I don't think I'd ever want to go back on it, since i'd rather consider other and just-as-efficient birth control methods. The only reason anyone should ever go on "leveling out" medication is if one is in a very very very bad place... not if one just wants to have sex.
I'd love to relive the ages between 19 and 24 sans birth control and see if they'd be any different without it.
Well, I'd like to re-live 19 to 24 on acid, now that I've realized those years are totally f#cked for everyone in the world so I might as well have been looking at pretty colours as I lived them. But I hear you. F#cking pill.
I love the pills because it makes the flows a little less and limits the pregnancy scares to zero as everything is usually on time and regulated. Oh, the pills. I had the shot once too - which makes no periods at all, which is a bit androgenetic.
Maybe when I'm 25 I'll change my tune.
I can't appreciate the 'on time' benefits of the pill. The guys at Greenwich call me once a month to make sure thier clocks are right. I yell "F#ck off, I'm on the rag!" And they say, "Thanks, Mlle La Spliffe!"
Actually that's not what happens at all. Just to say, I'm sure if they were unpredictable in the first place more predictable red-dragon-rides would be great, so maybe your tune won't change.
Young'un.
oh, her tune will change, give her time. fuckin' kids these days.
i was paranoid despite the pill about getting pregnant, maybe because the guys i was having sex with were NOT going to be my baby-daddies.
i'm all up for reliving that time, not only sans-pill, but also on acid. if i knew then what i know now, i'd've been a LOT higher then.
considering that i very very rarely have sex now, which is, surprisingly, not at ALL a bad thing (too much bad sex makes maria a very very annoyed girl) it just doesn't make sense for me to find a method of birth control more elaborate than condoms. maybe one day my prince will come and he'll be able to produce sperm on command. le sigh... a girl can dream.
You were paranoid because of our common Catholic background. I get pregnancy paranoia when I even look at some men, because my thoughts are so dirty I'm afraid the egg will start growing parthenogenetically.
See, Cali? You're not the only one who knows big words with 'genetic' in them. Parthenogenesis, parthenogenesis, parthenogenesis. Try saying *that* ten times fast.
You should build up your estrogen-tolerance if you want to nail people with alot of it. It kills the mood for us when our essences make men pass out mid-act.
And watch out for that sneaky progesterone . . .
I had to look up my genetic word on m-w.com, and if you actually look up the defintion, is doesn't mean what I meant it to mean, but I'm sure everyone figured out the meaning (my meaning) anyway because it's better and makes more sense.
Hah! Our genesis words were opposite!
I found mine in a Fay Weldon book when I was 15 and work it into conversations whenever I can, it's one of my favourites. My kids will probably explain that to a therapist some day.
Yeah, hormones are fuck-y enough already. You know if a mom nurses her baby more or less non-stop - like, at least once an hour - she doesn't get pregnant? But if she only nurses a bunch of times when the baby fusses, like European women, she can? What wierdos our beautiful bodies are.
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