Sunrise, sunset . . .

Hello from the United States of Canada. It's 4:15, the sun has set, and the week is gone.

A few observations:

WHY IS IT DARK AT 4:15?!

Watching my husband watch TV is the funniest thing I've ever seen. He mirrors all of the actors' facial expressions, eyebrows and all. You should have seen him during "Joey" last night.

How come our cats continue to eat toilet paper? What is so delicious about toilet paper?

We're finishing all of our holiday shopping TONIGHT. This has never happened before.

Could Johnny Depp be hotter? Seriously, could he?

Could be . . . who knows?

On Sunday night I met with my book club. I love how you can put the label of "book club" on a monthly gathering of ex-Bath & Body Works employees getting somewhat snockered on cheap merlot while gossiping and, oh yeah, talking briefly about a book, and it sounds somewhat intellectually valuable.

There are five of us in book club, four of us married. The one that isn't married, A., is currently 32 and is in the first long-term relationship where she has actually considered (and they've actually talked about) marriage. What's even more surprising to her (and to us) is that she can actually see herself wanting to have kids with him.

This is was implausible in the past -- A. is the type of woman who really, really values independence, tidiness, and order. This is the woman who purposely chose the glowing, cream-colored, doesn't-hide-spills-well berber carpeting for her townhouse; who chose the Bath & Body Works soap-and-lotion sets to have in each bathroom based on whether the lotion color blended with her shower curtain (Warm Vanilla Sugar downstairs, Cucumber Melon up). We all gawked at her maternal admission, baffled.

Then A. asked C., who is a nurse, "But we'll probably want to wait a few years after we get married to have kids. Is 35 too old to start having kids?" Of course, a chorus of "NOs" resounded from the four of us, still dumbfounded that she would be asking anything having to do with offspring at all. She continued, "Because who knows if my system will still be working then? If it's working now, that is."

Of course, I thought of all of the women that I have grown to care for deeply over the past few months. How that little "if" in "If it's working now" can so quickly devastate all of the plans that someone has made for their life since their childhood. Because, really, there usually is no way a person knows about their own fertility until it is already drastically altering their life. It's scary to know that the answer to whether you yourself, as a man or a woman, can create life -- a central part of many people's lives -- has been with you for years, but you don't know that answer until you actually take the leap and start trying.

Few people consider, before the fact, the possibility that they may be infertile. For that reason, most haven't done any research on the cost, financial and otherwise, of infertility treatments, have a hard time understanding the dizzying throng of emotions that go along with infertility, and don't know not to say, "I guess it's part of God's plan" or "Why don't you just adopt?" It's sad that in many cases, the only people who understand infertility are other people experiencing it.

For that reason, I'd like to say thank you to the women who have opened my eyes and taught me so much about how to be a friend -- not just a friend to people struggling with infertility, but to anyone. The support you show each other is amazing. Thank you for sharing your stories -- it really helps those of us who haven't experienced infertility (or perhaps, in a case like me, haven't experienced it yet, because really . . . who knows?) how to be sensitive and understanding with others in need.

You are truly strong, beautiful people.

Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade

Tonight at my part-time job at our friendly neighborhood Barnes & Noble, one of the managers (I use the term loosely -- the moron is about a year older than me and considers himself to be quite the shit because he was a history major. Yeah, and I was a religion major. Who the fuck cares?!) informed me that I "have the personality of a wet blanket."

Not quite the thing you want to hear when you're experiencing depression and your feet hurt and you're doing your best to ward off an ever-approaching migraine. Jesus Christ.

He apologized later, in no uncertain terms, after I was found crying in the break room.

Zoloft, sweet ambrosia of the gods, I could use some help right about now.

When I'm stuck with a day that's gray and lonely

Two months ago, I called the clinic to see if I could get an appointment with a psychologist. I had never liked fall, and certainly never liked winter, but the dread of the upcoming season was just too much for me to handle this year. I live in the midwest, where winter means long underwear and car accidents and sidewalk salt and road gravel and scraping frost off of windshields with numb hands. And, what is surely the most defeating, only 10 hours of sunlight manage to push their way into our part of the northern hemisphere.

This year the dread of winter consumed me. I sat at work in a stupor, unable to force myself to work. I snapped at my husband, stayed at home every night, and seriously considered talking to my boss about the possibility of working only 3 or 4 days each week. I have a history of depression, but it's been controlled for years by Zoloft (a gift from the gods). This fall, it just wasn't cutting it.

I suspected Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and bought a book to read up on symptoms and treatments. The most frequently mentioned treatment was a light therapy box; these boxes emit 5,000 - 10,000 lux of light (as compared to a normal light bulb, which emits less than 1,000), and start, may I add, at upwards of $200. I had called and made my appointment, but couldn't get in for two months.

I couldn't let two months of my life slip away in this fog. We took some of my husband's most recent student aid loan and bought a light therapy box.

Godsend. Not quite 100%, but incredibly relieving just the same.

I finally got in to see Dr. N this morning. I was officially diagnosed as having SAD, and my Zoloft has been upped for the fall and winter months. I will continue using the light therapy box daily.

I firmly believe that if you are suffering from chronic emotional difficulties that are adversely affecting your life, there's no need for you to be a martyr. It's trendy right now for people to piss and moan about how Americans are drugging themselves into a stupor and crushing every negative emotion with a bottle of pills. Don't let that make you feel guilty if you need to seek help. A mental illness is exactly that -- an illness -- and should be treated as such.

So, we'll see how my treatment plan works. I'll keep you posted.

Introductions

So I have started another blog.

My husband and I have a G-rated, benign, unpolitical, non-offensive blog that we update for friends and family. It was a creative challenge to come up with things to post after, say, last month's presidential election without alienating people that I'll need to see at holiday gatherings for the rest of my life. Creative challenge or not, it feels thoroughly scrubbed. With bleach. A Stepford Wife's blog.

One day about 3 months ago, while aimlessly surfing online, I somehow happened upon Julia's blog. In it, Julia, a writer, tells about her and her husband's many-year quest to conceive a child and maintain a pregnancy to term. Her story was full of heartbreak and, since she is now in a pregnancy that is going well, great joy. She is amazing. On her site, there were links to all sorts of other women, equally amazing, that are suffering from/have suffered from infertility and have had the guts to post their stories online.

Some of these women write with breathtaking wit and hilariously sharp humor (Julia [yes, another one], Grrl, Julie, and especially Jo), some are the strongest women I have ever (well, let's face it) never met, but would love to (Cecily, Tertia). Over the past three months of reading these women's stories, I feel I know them so well. I look forward to their daily posts, and I feel such great joy when things are going right and such sorrow when tragedy hits. I think of them every day, many times a day, and I admire them so much.

Now. I'm 25 years old, I've been married about 2 and a half years, and my husband and I have not yet started trying to conceive. When I mention to other people (my husband, my office mates [to explain why I have just audibly gasped at work], my sister, etc.) that I am reading the blogs of women suffering from infertility, I get some of the weirdest, most baffled looks I've ever seen. I have no way to explain how much I look forward to checking their blogs, and how close I feel to these women. I certainly can't post it on my blog (can't you just see it? My dad drops by for my weekly update to find, "Good news! Grrl's gestational surrogate is pregnant! The embryo implanted!"). So, I've started my own, in honor of the support that I see within the women in the infertility blogging committee. You ladies are truly an inspiration.