First, I'm wearing a wrap-around skirt that Jon's sister got for me from Costa Rica last year. I remembered that I had spent nearly an hour and a half trying to figure out how to tie it. It has one short tie on one side, a long tie on the other and then two slits that I assume the ties go through somehow, only about six inches from each other. I have probably worn this skirt tied about 5 different ways this entire day, and it's only 4:15.

I am slightly worried that after tomorrow, I will no longer have access to the web at work. Perhaps if I go to my new job early, or leave late, I can always be relied upon to write an entry. That's my hope anyway.

This weekend was a great weekend, I am quite pleased to say. On Saturday, we spent a good day at Watkins Glen. He was hesitant about going. Not actively hesitant. Just when I thought of it, he said, "Eh...maybe." This made me upset, of course, but I wanted to go, so I made arrangements with a friend of ours who had his son for that weekend and his friend's girlfriend. That kind of reigned Jon in so that he had to go. I think he would have anyway, but I definitely had to take charge in order to guarantee it would happen (something I don't normally do and really feel I should). We were resting by a pond with one huge fish in it, vigilantly watching for the turtle that had dipped for a swim a few moments earlier, when Jon nudged my arm and said, "This was a great idea." Yeah. That made my day. (By the way, I love turtles. Don't know why, really. I just do. I had a great turtle ring: the body was tortoise-shell brown and the head was turquoise. Then there were four little silver feet. I lost it at a service station on my way to Boston last year. I'm still mad about it.)

On Sunday, Jon and I played tennis, watched a movie, and ate sushi. I was great at tennis that day! And what's more, I have made a step in my care-about-me plan. I was thinking only about learning to play tennis, to enjoy myself, and to have fun. Guess what happened? Both Jon and I had fun. We laughed and smiled and I wasn't thinking the entire time "Jon is bored with playing with me; what will I do?" Man. What a mess I am!

Okay. Now. When I was twelve, I had a dream that I was pregnant. The doctor's came to me and told me I was going to have a baby. I started crying, insisting it couldn't be true because I was only twelve years old and hadn't had sex yet. I was also frightened to think that I could be like the virgin Mary and so shuddered at the thought (I have feeling this was the result of learning about reproduction and God at the same time). Then the doctors said to me, "Oh, but don't worry. You can't keep it. We're going to take it away." Suddenly, my fear of being pregnant turned into fear of being lonely. I kicked and screamed and fought, saying, "You can't take my baby!" Ever since having that dream, I believed that I couldn't have kids.

I started having sex when I was 16, or about a week before turning 16, or sometime around then. I'm sure it's written down in one of my notebooks. In fact, I remember reading it, me saying it was beautiful and great... man. Talk about kidding yourself! It was awful and lacked all respect. I'm ashamed I even did it! Anyway, to get back to the point, I went on the pill and have been on it for most of the next nine years. There were times when I skipped pills and even about a six-month period where I didn't take them at all because I couldn't afford them. I never ever had problems. So my dream suddenly seemed like a prophesy (no, I wasn't trying to get pregnant. I just thought it was strange).

Lately, the pill has been pissing me off. I just am annoyed by it. I never can consistently take it every day of every month. I just can't. Some days, I end up taking four pills cause I missed the last three. For the last year, I was so annoyed with stopping for seven days and taking it again, that I decided, after some research, to just take it continually. So I've had only two periods in the last year. This weekend, my last pill pack was emptied and I was pissed because I hadn't made an appointment to pick up more and couldn't afford to pay for the three packs that is a minimum to buy anyway. So I told Jon I didn't want to take it anymore. At least for a few more months. Jon had no problem with it. I don't want to depo-provera because too many of my friends who had a history of depression had too many problems with it. No way for Norplant cause my cousin got very sick, and I'm not sure if I want to wait five more years for kids, if I decide I really want kids. The pill just sucks; I'm afraid of the risks of IUDs, I feel annoyed just thinking about diaphragms, and so... Jon and I use condoms anyway, so I figure, we'll just continue to do that. Give my body a long needed break. My foster mother did some research for my little sister on the pill and found that BCPs are linked to depression for some women. So forget that nonsense.

Then I thought: that means I'll have periods again. And they'll come upon me when I'm not ready. With pills, you always know when you'll get it. I'll have to mark my calendar. Count days. Carry panty liners in my purse. Buy tampons and keep them in my desk. Dear God. I'll have to do what millions of other women do that I've avoided somehow for the last nine years! It's like being twelve again, but it feels so weird to think that I'll have my period again! And I'll have to tell Jon if he wants sex, "Um, I'm ... you know. Having my monthly." Egad! I can't even remember how I approached that before! Jeebus. This is weird.

My office took me out to lunch today and gave me a $50 gift certificate to Borders. Yes! I'm going to purchase one or two recommended to me by Incredibly Quirky. Quite excited am I. I think too, that while there, I will also write for an hour or so.

I haven't done any work today!

I wanted to write so much more about going off the pill. It seems so profound to me, like it's a huge decision. When I broached the topic with Jon this weekend, I was almost shocked at how casually he just said to get off them, to go for it and not take them anymore. I was all blubbery, like "But...but..." and couldn't think of any buts! Really, it is my decision. And in the past, I insisted that my boyfriend pay half if he expected me to contribute to the condom fund. (I know, this is probably quite ridiculous to some of you.) But I felt that it should be carefully thought out by both of us, and yet... it doesn't really, does it? Or does it? I'm going to confuse myself. I can feel it starting already.

I'm a little mad at myself. (This journal entry is going nowhere.) I write about Jon. All the freakin' time. There is more to me, you know. Just in my dark pit of despair, I find what I know to write about. What really has been bothering me was my relationship, even though Jon isn't at all what is at the root of my problems. It's what happens in me. And if a journal doesn't express that, then what does a journal do? It should be me, shouldn't it? Even if it isn't correct or accurate or happy, it is something meant to reflect my feelings. I hate that I have, in some strange way, insulted Jon by blaming him for all that makes me feel rotten, when in reality, he is what makes me feel good... Perhaps scared as well because now I have something there that can support me when I face what's really wrong. Paper helps when you want to organize it, set it up, the pros, the cons, the arguments, theories and conclusions. I was a comparative literature major. You know what they do? They read stories, then tear them apart. Literally. They read philosophers, theorists, cultural icons, and apply them to stories, stories that to the writer probably just sounded good! It guess that major is perfect for me, but sucks for my psyche. Really, I was quite good at it. My thesis was about Kafka's "In the Penal Colony," one of my favorite stories. I got highest honors for it. *Grin grin*

I want to sigh to you. Just picture it. Me sighing.