Church and Pancakes

Heading out in a bit to the UU Church in Asheville. Poncho is itching for a hit of spirituality and we woke up early enough to get there. Before-hand, though - pancakes. I made a whole slew of strawberry-pancakes yesterday and froze the lot that we couldn't finish. So today we get to have more of the amazing awesomeness! Hooray!

In other news, I am officially on the Model Mayhem website as of this morning. I'm already getting pic comments and friend requests and such. The layout feels kind of awkward to me, and I'm kind of sketched out by most of the lurkers on there. But I feel confident in my ability to navigate through it and use it to my advantage. Wish me luck! If you're curious, you can view my profile here.

Well, I'm off to church!

Stomachache

'Stomach' is a funny looking sort of word. So is 'ache'. Put them together and it's almost enough to make you laugh. The sort of feelings it describes, however, don't really induce that sort of chuckle out of me. Not since Monday, and the testing and Thursday and the results. Now, I am scared of every cramp and worried of every bout of nausea.

I have a stomachache today.

I don't know if I'll be able to have children. I've been thinking that phrase a lot lately. I've said it out loud dozens of time. I even said it before I ever got those stupid test results back. I said it for lots of reasons, at different times, to lots of people. I always sort of meant it. But it never scared me before. It used to feel like a sort of self-implicated restriction. Something I could always reverse if I ever had strong enough desire to. Now... Now it's that sinking feeling that drops out from underneath your breakfast and leaves a cold sort of stone in the pit of your stomach that makes your afternoon tea turn on you. It feels like betrayal. Betrayal by your own villainous body. Betrayal by your own flesh and blood. Which is funny, sort of, because that's always a term you hear people use for their offspring.

"Their own flesh and blood."

I write to get this out from inside of me. It feels like a poison, gnawing at my twisted up entrails. Wreaking havoc and crying out from inside of me for more. More... pain? Suffering? Nothing specific. I don't think I could give It anything and It be happy and content.

It.

I think I've struck on something important here: there is a feeling of invasion by something Other inside of me. That something alien has breached my most sacred and vulnerable.... Inside Place. My Core. I read once that people used to think that your soul resided in your liver. Or something like that. I remember more clearly learning about benevolence being found in the liver. It does sort of feel like I am centered around what I can huddle safely with my arms. I want so much to have a baby. I want to be pregnant. I want to be all round and shiny and lovely and full of life. I want to bring life into the world. Life created out of love and commitment and attraction and compatibility and friendship. I want to hold the little angel in my arms. I want to nourish those tiny hands and blinking eyes. I want to coo and caress and sing and laugh and cry over my child.

I used to think that I would never have children. That I wasn't stable enough. Wasn't a healthy enough vessel. That I would never find a relationship worthy of that elusive title of 'family'. I mean, you've got to really make sure the set-up is a-okay. Everything has this nasty habit of falling apart. I wanted to make sure my foundation was strong. I found Poncho. Or, rather, he found me. Showed up one evening, in my living room. Surrounded by strangers and vague acquaintances. Uncomfortable. Like he was in some bizarre-o world waiting room.

"Yes, of course, Mr. White. You sit right down there and your soul mate will be in to get you. Could you just fill out this form while you wait for her?"

Poncho is my puzzle piece. Everything I needed in a partner. Everything I ever could have wanted. I love him so much, in so many different ways. I need to just write about that sometime. It's just, so overwhelming. Still. We've been together since March of last year and it still just blows my mind. All of it. The perfect friendship, the kisses, the Love, the sex, the cuddles, the conversations, everything. He's perfect. Well, no. Not perfect. He has faults and the like. But even those are strategic, in connection with me and my faults and imperfections and such. We're perfect for each other, even as imperfect beings. I think he's the dreamiest, sweetest, softest, most wonderful friend. Best friend, boy friend, all kinds of friend. Any kind. He's there for me in every way. Whatever way I need. It's just, astounding, when you think about it. Really amazing. I looked so long. I tried so hard with so many morons, to make this. To create some inkling of this, that I now have in abundance. It's so disgusting to me, now. The past. Anyway. I'll talk about the past more later.

Poncho is going to be a great father. 'Is going to be'. Not 'would be'. We'll adopt. Foster. Something we want so badly to have children. They don't have to be from our genes. It's probably better that they're not. I have lots of genetic crap I don't want passed on. Used to be another reason I always said I wasn't having kids. I didn't want them to blame me for all the problems I handed down to them. ADHD, bipolar, depression, anxiety, asthma, stupid-bad allergies... But I decided, you know what? I love myself the way I am, all that included. And god knows Poncho loves me for who I am. So who's to say the kids wouldn't love themselves regardless of genetic quirks? Precisely.

Well, I feel much better now. I think I'll end this now, on an optimistic note.

Peace, Love and Strawberries.

Water

So. I hate having to drink water. Especially tap water. Filtered, bottled stuff is better and not as metallic tasting, but I still shy away from it. I drank a whole glass of water last night before going to bed and today I woke up and look like I lost weight overnight. I mean, I looked in the mirror and I was noticeably slimmer!

I know, I know - we're made of a mostly water, you're supposed to drink a bajillion cups of the gross liquid every day. I know. It doesn't change that it tastes so bad! It almost makes me gag.

I have been trying to drink this cup next to me all morning. The multi-vitamin bottle says to take the pill after a meal and with a full glass of water. I want to do everything in my power to be a healthier person, so I am inclined to obey.

Blech. Water.

Happy Thoughts

We're watching Eddie Izzard's Circle. I'm drinking some more tea. Oolong, this time. I had some vanilla chai earlier, and before that, some English Breakfast. I love tea. It has less caffeine than coffee. I love coffee, but it makes me jittery. And frankly, I don't need anything else in my life to make me more unstable than I already am, au naturale.

Anyway - I wanted to write a post about my recent photo shoots with Meredi. We did several sets while I was visiting her and Franc in Austin. (Franc is actually 'Frank', but I like saying it with the 'c'.) After I go through the recent sets with Meredi, I want to write about some of my other photos. I've pulled some from my Facebook account.

First, the Strawberry Shortcake set:


Then, the Alyssa in Wonderland series, which began with the Cheshire Cat:


Went on to include the Queen of Hearts:


And today, she posted the Mad Hatter set:



A nice sampling, I feel. I'll post the other characters as I receive them.

I want to do this post because photography makes me happy. On many levels. I love modeling. I love working with Meredi. I love creativity and self-expression. I love art. I love doing my make-up and fixing my hair up.

I'm 162 lbs as of last Monday, and somewhere between 5'8 and 5'10. It changes. Depending on who measures me, where, when, and how I'm feeling at the time of measurement. Not your typical model, I know. I have freckles. I have really pale skin. Smaller chest than most. I've dreamed off and on, of obtaining myself a boob job sometime. Money and such permitting, of course.

I don't know where I was going with that. But, yes. I wanted to talk about photography and modeling.

For now, though, I think I'll go lay down for a bit. Until later.

Ads

I have added Click-on-me Ads. Sorry. They pay you for each click and I need the money. I don't expect you guys to click on them. In fact, I'm not asking you to. I want to make that clear. They'll actually void payment for clicks if I post any sort of incentive on here for clicks. So yeah, this is not incentive. I just wanted to explain their sudden, seemingly random appearance. That is all.

Colposcopy Results

The biopsy revealed that there are high level changes in my cervical cells. That usually means a LEEP procedure, where they remove the parts of your cervix with such cells in order to restrict this sort of cellular activity as much as possible. Dr. Scott has decided not to take this action, on account of several reasons. First, I am young (relatively), and being closer in age to 20 than I am to 30, she is hesitant to remove chunks of my cervix.... Which is good, since I want to have kids eventually and all. Secondly, I've never had an abnormal pap smear before, so this is an isolated incident. Thirdly, since my pap smear was abnormal, but did not reveal high grade changes among cells, but only low grade changes, this isn't as bad... I think I got all that down correctly. It's all so complicated and they're all so careful in their speaking to me. They don't want to scare me.

I am scared. I've spent the better part of the day crying. And it's not just the test results. It's this whole new development with the student loan. I owe them so much money, and the account is delinquent, and I have no way of paying for it. Poncho and I were still struggling just to get rent together for Monday. I don't know what we'll do. We've been trying to find jobs. We've enlisted the help of unemployment, and I've sent off for information on food stamps. I don't know what else to do. It all seems a bit hopeless.

I feel better now, when I'm writing all of this. I talked on the phone with my mother for a while today, and she gave me some good advice. Live in the now. Live for the moment. In other words, don't worry about things, because worrying isn't going to help anything. Don't even think about the issues that stress you out, unless you can contribute good, positive, constructive sorts of thoughts to the issues. Planning, in other words, is fine.

The plan is this: tomorrow, my father and I are going to have a conference call and go in on this together. We'll figure out how to get a payment plan set-up or something. I'm supposed to go in for another pap-smear and colposcopy in June - four months from the one on Monday - and they'll see if my body has been able to fight this thing off on its own. If not, then they'll have to operate and do that LEEP thing and remove chunks of my cervix and god, I cringe a little just thinking about that. I have been instructed to take 1 mg of folic acid every day, to help strengthen my pathetic excuse for an immune system, in hopes that doing so will boost my body's chances for fighting this thing off on its own.

I took a multi-vitamin today with 500 mcg of folic acid in it - that's 125% of the daily amount you're supposed to be getting. It's a start. I'm just worried about the whole multi-vitamin thing. They usually make me jittery. Like caffeine.

I want to be healthy. I want to have pretty babies someday.

Pray for me.

The Morning After

I feel much better today, despite the unnerving fact that the bleeding doubled overnight. I dreamed about SUUSI - Southeastern Unitarian Universalist Summer Institute - last night. I dreamed about Kerry, my first boyfriend and first love.

We both went to Spirit of Life UU church when I lived in Oldsmar, Florida. I moved there from Roanoke, Virginia half-way through 3rd grade. Moved away to Boone, North Carolina the summer before my 8th grade year. Five and a half years. That was the longest time I spent living in one place, too. One house, one neighborhood.

I would call this the most stable point in my life, except that this was the period of time during which my parents underwent their first and second trial separations, and eventually filed for divorce. I can remember the fights. About the dumbest stuff. Like what to cook for dinner. I remember yelling. About chicken. I remember that my mom was really sad all the time. Or angry. Patrick and I got spanked during this time period. Tempers on all sides were short. There was a heavy sort of atmosphere around the house. I remember crying myself to sleep almost every night in 5th grade. I remember my mom crawling into bed with me sometimes. I guess that was when things with my dad got to be too much for her.

They tried to make it better - my parents, for Patrick and I. They had us enrolled in all sorts of sports teams and after-school stuff. I went to art camp and space camp, I was in ballet and jazz dance classes, I took keyboard piano lessons, and then there was also the soccer and softball team practices and weekend games, and those pesky dance recitals at the end of every term, and I vaguely remember swim team and gymnastics, but that might have been before Florida, in Virginia - all sorts of things to keep us busy and make us into well-rounded people. I wonder if that's what I became - a well-rounded person. Or if I just grew up fragmented. Pulled in a hundred directions.

I remember that Patrick was always good at everything he did. I was not. I would do pirouettes in left field, and marvel at the way my spiked shoes made little cone indentations in the brownish red dirt. In dance class, (moreso in ballet than in jazz) the teacher would smack my bottom and fuss about my curved back. She hated that my butt stuck out so much. Even as a stick-figure in my gangly youth I had a badonka-donk. I would try so hard to suck it in, the way she lectured me to. I even took to sleeping like that, with my hips curved up and forward, to pull in my bottom. It made me feel weird, and contained and nervous and self-conscious.

I was always day-dreaming. I was always escaping into books or music or far-off imaginary places. I loved flights of fancy. I loved fantasy. I read Redwall and Animorphs and Everworld and Young Jedi Knights. I dreamt in vivid, scary colors about death and falling and flying away to the castle down the street at the end of the cul-de-sac.

We had a pool, but I was afraid of it. I had too many nightmares about things you couldn't see down there on the bottom, lurking, that would grab hold of your ankle and pull you under. And I was a great swimmer. I could tread water forever, and I was fantastic at the butterfly stroke. But I hated getting water in my eyes. The chlorine burned so badly. I always had to have goggles. Good goggles. Not those cheap little plastic ones that leaked.

I drew alot. In the back of the classroom where I sat. People were always asking me to draw things for them. I thought it was kind of strange that they wouldn't just try and draw it themselves. Didn't everyone have pictures in their heads? Didn't everybody feel the pull of their hand across the page, the need to express the things building up behind their eyes?

I would draw, and read all the time. Except on the school bus, because it caused me motion sickness and I would get really nauseous. On the bus, I listened to music. First the yellow tape deck with mixed tapes I made myself from CD's I had at home. Then, the upgrade to the CD player which broke when I dropped it once. Then that big, fuck-off contraption - also yellow - that was like a musical TANK. This thing had a latch that kept it closed, you could drop it, sit on it, anything. It was awesome. I loved it. I think we still have it packed away somewhere at my mom's house. I got one of the first generations of MP3 music players from my dad after that. It was something by Nike. It didn't have a screen, just buttons. It was this little rubber and plastic pod. Fit into the palm of my hand. Blue-ish black and gray, with some little orange accents for the symbols. But that wasn't until we were in Boone. Before that, it was that yellow tape-deck and the fuck-off CD player.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Kerry.

Kerry was a dreamy kid. A year older than me, with chocolate brown eyes and a smile that'd melt your heart like butter on hot toast. I had a crush but didn't know it. He had a crush back, but I was oblivious. There were boys in class that I "crushed" on. Giggled and twittered about with girls in the lunch room. But this was different. I talked about him to Kim on the bus, my pretty red-headed friend. ("Auburn, not red.") It was new. It was exciting. The way he talked about things made me feel so naive and, well, young. He was taller than me when he stood up straight, but slouched alot. I had perfect posture back then, what with taking ballet classes since I could walk. I liked him. We talked online. I had AIM, one of the early versions. We held hands at an overnight the youth group held at the church one night. Held hands and talked in hushed tones as the party whirled on around us. Fell asleep and woke up like that - holding hands. It was precious.

We started dating when I told him I was moving. It was July 18th, and the last few things were getting packed into the car. We had our animals in the car already - Salem, our cat; and Molly, our dog; and we were prepping for the drive up to Boone. I was online one last time, talking to Kerry. My friend. He asked me out and I accepted.

It gets really fuzzy here. I remember flashes and glimpses.

I didn't see Kerry, after we broke up, for years. It was high school, at Mountain Con, that I saw him next. He was very different, but still the same Kerry. Everyone loved him - they called him Kerr-Bear. I was so jealous that they all knew him and I didn't. Not anymore.

The last time I went to SUUSI, I confessed my undying love to him. I told him that I hadn't stopped loving him in 8 years. I told him, and he smiled and told me he was flattered but sorry. He had this girlfriend, and whatever - I blocked it out. I could tell it was rejection. And I'd known that it was coming. I was silly to have hoped for a fairy-tale ending. Of course he'd moved on. Any normal, healthy, well-adjusted adult would've done the same. What was wrong with me? Why had I clung so, to childish fancy?

I was crushed.

But I recovered. And afterwards, long afterwards, I realized all the reasons this was for the best. I moved on. I met and fell for the most amazing person I've ever had the pleasure to meet. I am now engaged to that person, and that person is my best friend and he just cooked me breakfast and made me tea and I couldn't be luckier. I found what I wanted, and I'm lucky enough for that to be what I needed, as well.

When I was dreaming, last night, Poncho didn't exist. I was single and Kerry and I pretty much hit it off and got back together. There were many levels of consciousness to the dream. One level knew this was wrong, and was trying to figure out why. Another was happy with this fairy-tale ending and was very child-like. The third was just confused, floating along, and very passive. I woke up and Poncho wasn't there. I was scared, I thought I'd dreamed him out of existence or something. He was just in the other room, of course. But for the first few seconds of consciousness, I thought I was in a dorm room at SUUSI, and I remembered Poncho, and I felt sick with fear and longing. Kerry vanished like smoke before a high-powered ceiling fan.

I know this is where I'm meant to be, so why does my brain dream up such things? I haven't talked to Kerry since SUUSI two years ago. I don't understand why I have to dream about him anymore, now that he doesn't represent all that idealized stuff for me. It's just... disconcerting.

Anyway, I am going to drink my tea and cuddle my boyfriend - er, fiancé - and watch some more movies on Netflix.

Peace, love and strawberries,
Megh

Worst Pap Smear Ever

http://womenshealth.about.com/cs/cevicalconditions/a/colposcopy.htm

I had to have one of these today. I had my first abnormal pap smear back in December of last year and this is what the sciences have come up with as an answer to abnormal paps.

Really? Is this the best we can do? Where are the advancements in medical science when I need them? This was painful, and violating, and I cried. The Doctor and nurse administering this hellish ordeal felt really bad because I cried, so apparently it's not as bad for the other poor women who've gone through this.

But yipes! I mean, just read that article. It makes you squirm. It makes *me* squirm, and I already got it over and done with.

I get the results back Friday, or Monday at the latest. Wish me luck. Prayers are appreciated.

Poncho has been a dear, today. I feel so much better just having him near. I feel weak and vulnerable and exposed and mutilated. He makes me feel safer and so loved. I think he's done better for the discomfort than the Tylenol. Thank you, baby. I love you.

Taste the Rainbow

They called me Skittles in high school. Not the whole 4 years, mind you. Just Junior year, when I dyed my hair for the first time. My cousin, Olivia, helped me. We bleached it first, since my natural color is so dark - a really dark brown that often gets mistaken for black. Then we used Manic Panic, a temporary dye. We did red, orange, and yellow streaks. When I pulled it back, the colors radiated outward from my face in a fascinating manner. But when I left it down, you could only see the red streaks on either side of my face. It was very cool. Manic Panic washes out very quickly, but the initial color is vivid and beautiful. I have a few pictures of that hair style, but I don't have any digital versions.

After that washed out, and I just had the limpid bleached out yellow left, I re-did the coloring job. This time, I used purple and red. I left a space in between the two colors. I have a few pictures of that, digitally:

That's me with Olivia. I call her Livvie. I even type that into my phone, or into the Facebook search, before correcting myself to use her full name.

After that, I did normal brown hair again. Then, about 2 years ago, I started back to re-dying it funky colors. But this time, I did my whole head. I started with pink:
I have gotten much, much better with the make-up. And those eye-brows. Yeesh. After that, I had to dye it back to brown until I moved in Russell and out of my father's place, where I'd been living for the summer. Next was turquoise. I consider turquoise my base color. I kept going back to it, as you'll soon see. Here was the first time:
Even this first time, I incorporate some pink, in stripes, from the temples. I often did this. Pink, sometimes purple. Sometimes both. This led to another nickname, Cotton Candy.
I gave myself bangs!
Sometimes I spiked them up with gel. This picture shows one of the times I did that, and clipped back the rest of my hair so it looked shorter.
What it looked like down. (Actually later that same day the picture above was taken.) Here are some other incarnations of the turquoise/cotton candy look:

I did every color of the rainbow. One for each month, for a year. I cut my own hair during this time. I bleached my roots when they grew out, and I used a permanent dye called RAW, which wouldn't wash out like Manic Panic, but instead would gradually fade and then grow out with the rest of my hair. I did red, pink, yellow, green, blue, purple, and black.

I loved having dyed hair. It made me feel unique and weird and different and artsy. I was called Rainbow Lady by all the kids I came across. The kids I nannied for loved it. It was expressive. I was lucky to have jobs that allowed such expression. First, at Hot Topic in the Asheville Mall, and then with the nanny position. My co-workers at Hot Topic called me Rainbow Brite because of my constantly changing hair color and tendency towards candy-raver-esque clothing/accessory style.

But, ultimately, it was bad for my hair. The follicle was fried, and wouldn't lay down, not even with deep conditioning.

I dyed it back to brown, in late 2008 and let it start growing out. I had to get a job, after all. Most places won't even look at you if you have funky hair. In May 2009, I had it cut professionally at Galina's, here in Asheville. From there, I let it grow out. I don't have bangs anymore, what with it being something like 9 months later. I need to get it trimmed, get rid of the last few bits of colored hair.I can finally put it all up in a pony-tail. It's so exciting! This is what it looks like now:


I used to have really long hair, in my youth.

I kept it long up until Sophomore year of high school, at which time, I cut it (myself, mind you) in a fit of rage. I had this mind-fuck of a boyfriend, name of Flint:

And he kept badgering me to cut my hair, change my clothes, listen to different music, watch different movies.... all in order to be more like this chick he was in love with from Vermont. I forget her name, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore. The thing is, when we finally broke up after being together for something like a year, I cut off a big chunk of my hair just to spite him. It looked like crap. I tried this layering thing and I had no idea what I was doing. It just cluttered up the frame of my face and looked dingy and crowded. I wrote a poem about it: A poem originally written in March 2002, in which I was contemplating suicide while cutting all of my hair off. This is the revised version, which I released on deviantArt a while ago.

A Hair Too Close To Real

Just one last thing before I go
The memory of that first kiss
To cut away the long black silk
To watch it fall through the abyss
My eyes will cry what they still may
My heart can't yet take that away

To confusing faces, my face turns
In all this anguish, something burns
Even for the fear of death
I will draw my last breath

Watch now, my weightless apparition
Leave me as I start to transition
As feet lift from the cold hard ground
And seen through mirrors, heard through sound
See darkness, torment, an evil sight
The strands of black upon skin so white
Shown eerie through reflections of the night

Take twin blades and cut away the years
Take away the memories
Take away the fears

If cut too deep the toll of flesh is paid
Damned spirit of a teenage girl, in sorrow made

Forgive me running far from here
From everything I was held dear
And leave to me just one thing, this
The memory of that first kiss.

And so, we've come full-circle. Back to high school! I dyed it for the first time a year after I cut it. So I guess you could loop this entry and just keep reading it, over and over again. But I wouldn't recommend it.

The Many Different Kinds of Love

The reason I never see Cookie is that Russell and I don't exactly get on. I miss that kid sometimes. The friendship. The closeness. The trust, the laughter, the bizarre unnameable connection. I don't miss the dating aspect. But I hate that - to him, now - I don't exist. That all of that stuff before we were an item doesn't exist anymore. It doesn't mean anything. It's like that with all my ex's. I disappear. I hate that. I hate disappearing. I feel so insignificant and invisible. I remember them. I still love them, in a way. Not in the couple-way. Not romantic or longing or passionate. But it is love. Or something like it.

I feel like we use the word "love" for too much. It applies to too many different things. The Greek had a better handle on it, what with their four kinds of love.

Agápe - True Love
Éros - passionate, sensual love
Philia - friend/familial love, brotherly love
Storge - platonic love, almost exclusively among family

I have lots of bad memories when it comes to love. I have a bad track record, so to speak. And I'm sure I'll go into that more later. But, the word "love" and the topic of love, the feelings and memories that this word produces within me, brings me to the topic of Poncho. My beloved, my betrothed, my fiancé, my soul-mate, my best friend. My life's blood. My other half. My rock. My home. I love him.



We're hoping to be married 12-12-2012. It's a Wednesday. We want a Disney World wedding. I want a big poofy white dress. Lots of flowers. Apply to all 5 senses, with lovely appearances, lovely smells, lovely sounds, comfortable arrangements for seating, and amazing food and drink. I'm so excited!!!


We've been together as a couple since July 18th, 2009.

We've been best friends since we met March 22nd, 2009. <3



1/2 carat diamond, set in platinum, with a 1/4 carat sapphire hidden underneath the diamond.



We're very happy with it. :)