Friday, Dec. 18, 2009 8:33 p.m.

how I keep myself busy when K is away

I was born 11 years after woodstock. My youngest sister (and my students) were born 14 years after me.

Only 11 years after woodstock? Am I really closer in age to the children born in the 1960s than to the children born in the 2000s? I am freaking out about this. I relate to the younger generation so much more.

Oh my gosh, if anyone ever stumbles upon this diary and you are like 16-22yrs. or something, know this: seriously, you do not feel any older as you age. Wiser maybe, because you have more experiences to base things on, but otherwise you feel no different. And becoming aware of your age and the perceptions of being "old" is freakishly weird. It's like waking up and being told you're supposed to be a certain age. You don't feel that age at all, and in some weird way, you feel like you've been robbed. Where did those in-between years go? I have no idea.

It's strange how just a small amount of alcohol helps me to feel clear-headed and normal. I wish there was a medication that had had certain effects of alcohol without the others. Like soma, from the book 1984. Sometimes I think I think better if I'm just slightly tipsy...and then I wonder if that's a bad thing, and if I'm turning into an alcoholic, ha ha. :)

Oh my gosh, am I ever going to know what it's like to be pregnant? I know I shouldn't thinking about this all the time, but it's just always on my mind. Really. It's not like wondering what it's like to kiss a guy, or have sex, or be married or anything else like that, because well, I could choose to make those things happen. But being pregnant? I can't choose to make that happen. My will has nothing to do with it, unfortunately. You know how we're told that we can have anything if we want it bad enough and work hard enough? ha ha ha...awww, people and their sayings. Naivety is fun. Life is not fair and does not reward the just. Life just happens.

It's 9 o'clock. I'm home alone, as usual. Sometimes K will give me an estimation of his arrival at home - I never believe it - I always add on an extra hour or so to whatever he says.

I wonder where my life will go from here. I wonder if I'll be anything before I die. The smallest consolation is that if I were to die now, at least my genes are being passed down through my egg donations. (I wish I could post the pics I've got of the twins from my last donation; I'm so proud of their existence. When I see all these stupid facebook pics of old friends kids or pregnant bellies, I just go and look at "my" donor babies. They are my hidden substitution; I may not have what anyone else has, but hey, I do have some genetic offspring, ok? I know I'll never be like you, but I have something...right?) I just am sad that I don't have anything with K. K deserves to pass on his genes as well. He's such an amazing husband. The world would be better having more of him.

Fuck. There's the tears.

I think it's time for glass number four now.

Sorry I dwell on and talk about this so much. It just hurts a lot. And talking about it (even if it is over and over and over again) helps. And this is my diary. And what diaries are for.

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