The constant search for the meaning of old-fashioneds

Very odd dream last night. Jean Claude Van Damme was systematically banging his way through every woman in the city, and when it was my turn (whilst still massively pregnant BTW) I punked out at the last minute when I heard the F-word's voice outside of the motel room and Jean Claude Van Damme asked if I wanted to punk out. But then I felt so bad for leaving Jean Claude Van Damme with blue balls that I gave him a handjob. I'm trying to work out what all that means. I mean, giving someone a handjob is still cheating, right, so why did I think that was a great solution to the awkward social situation? And what was I doing wanting to bang Jean Claude Van Damme in the first place? What messages is my subconscious trying to send me here?

Life is baffling me a little bit today in more serious ways. Family medical situation that is going not at all satisfactorily. I know so many fucking useless or downright lousy people who just keep on metabolizing and reproducing without much problem, and now the person who I, personally, consider probably the most socially useful person I've ever even known is facing serious health challenges and life changes. It disconcerts me, not only emotionally, but to understand once more that good fortune is exactly that - good fortune - and virtue is rarely rewarded and vice punished as clearly as an ethnic Catholic like me would like to see.

Gina Rinehart caused a flap here yesterday by saying Australians should stop, I don't know, being critical and get down to working harder instead of drinking all the time so they could be rich. To me it's wonderfully emblematic of what I mean: the woman is among the world's richest because of who happened to fertilize her momma's eggs, but I'm sure within herself she's absolutely certain her own good fortune is down to hard work, rather than a massive amount of good fortune combined with not being an absolute ass. Everyone who's happy and well off is, I suspect, guilty of this sort of thing to some degree. I know I am, when I don't think things through. What I find interesting about right-wing people is how dedicated they are to maintaining the fiction in policy and in their own heads that a good life isn't down to good luck, and a bad life is just down to vice or some sort of sub-humanity. 

Still pregnant

Anybody here watched Art Attack in their youth and needs their childhood ruined/enhanced?

Week 29 today, and the baby is moving a lot. Not just kicking. I suppose it's running out of room, so I can really feel it moving - turning, doing things with its limbs. The F-word can feel from the outside too. It's lovely . . . and really timely given that I'm otherwise really sick of being pregnant - huge and tired and hungry and cranky and sickly in the morning. And at the same time rather desperately wishing to stay pregnant for the maximum time - hoping and hoping to not have to have too early a delivery - applauding each day it stays up there as a gift and a victory.

I daresay the worry about my blood pressure is making things rather worse than they could be, but I'm tempted to say that in the pantheon of "complicated" pregnancies this is a relatively uncomplicated one, so I don't know how people with actually complicated pregnancies manage.  I don't know how women who work really intense full time hours manage. And I don't know God's excuse for letting men's biological contribution to this process be an orgasm. Which, since it was with me, was obviously a really terrific one.

Anyways, my point is this week the baby has got to feeling like a real baby, which is thrilling, and frightening. And makes me really, really miss my family. Understanding now why favourite-sister-in-law suggested I have the baby in Canada. But for all my complaints during the week of panic a couple of weeks back, I'm actually quite pleased with the level of care I'm getting here, and the outlook of my midwife. And while it would be nice to have a lot of family nearby during these times, I'm quite sure the F-word will be a terrific push-partner. Depending on how things go, I'm less committed to the idea of not having my next baby here. We'll see.