And So It Goes

I mentioned it a long time ago, but there was a time in my life in which a ghost pain made even the insertion of the smallest tampon serious pain. I went to doctors, they had no idea. Finally, I went to my doctor, who is also, coincidentally, probably the best gynecologist ever. What she found was disturbing but easily fixable: the most resilient yeast infection ever. Gross, right? I'm sorry I don't censor myself on this blog but I don't :/ Anyway, she made it go away after a week and I thought I would be all better! But no, no. That teensy, easily treatable infection left something much harder to fix in its wake. Dyspareunia.

Which means that it's up to my to fix it now. I have to find a way to convince my brain that the cause of the pain is gone and that it doesn't have to shut up my lady region and refuse to let anything pass. I honestly never consciously think about it. I guess it's just a response my body developed after months of painful penetration. And now it just won't let anything in. It's going to be a slow process to be sure but at least it's in my hands now and it's something I can fix.

In other news, my loneliness has taken a backseat to make room for the absurd amounts of homework that this semester has brought in and which I'm procrastinating right now. I don't know when I'm going to work on teaching my body how to properly behave if I'm lugging around hundred pound books all the time. And in between those two tasks, I also have to write my book. Really. I've written it and re-written portions, entire drafts. I've filled up notebooks with brain-storming and have built up this perfect book in my head that beginning to actually writing seems daunting. I'll just stick to reading Homer thank you very much.

But seriously, the drafts and outlines and ideas I've been culminating ever since I decided I hated my last production have created a really great 'in theory' book. Now, I have to actually type the words and make it something real. Something tangible. Something I can send off to the agents of the literary world and something that will garner me batches of rejection on a weekly basis but also, hopefully, for the first time, maybe a letter that shows some interest. Maybe someone will ask to look at my manuscript. And even if they reject it, at least I'll know that it's on the merit of my work [or lack thereof] and not on my inability to write a query letter more interesting than late-night infomercials. MAYBE, and this is probably asking too much, but someone could accept it. See the potential in my draft and in me and take a chance. I don't need it to be a New York Times' Bestseller or anything. I just have a story. And I know that I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about it until I make something I'm proud of and until I make something I know someone else was proud of, too.

Settling In

In the past week, I've moved into my apartment at University, been reunited with people I haven't seen since the summer and have started school. As far as education goes, it's going to be an obscenely rough semester. It's the semester of too many hours, the thesis, the LSAT and hopefully a job even though that's not really looking up for me right now. Another stresser I've come into the semester with, and I don't know if I've ever written about it here, is the phantom pain in my lady region that's been bothering me since September. September. Why haven't I gotten it fixed, you may ask? Well, I went off to London and the doctors just couldn't figure out what it was. I've been seeing my home doctor and she gave me some medicine to eliminate some common causes. One of these medicines is a cream that is probably one of the least pleasant things I've ever experienced and I have an appointment next weekend to see if it worked. Fingers crossed, folks! Because if it didn't, we gotta keep lookin'. (And for those of you who are worried about this: I've had a full STD panel and it is none of them so we're in the clear there). J's been wonderful at supporting me and he even drives me to my appointments since it's about two and a half hours away.

In other news, I've been trying to settle into the rhythm of classes. It's not too hard now, since, ever since my evil roommate fiasco, the number of friends I have at university has significantly plummeted. But you know what? I don't really mind. They were all people I was never really that close, too and people who never once bothered to ask for my side of the story, preferring to believe that I was as horrible as my ex-roommate would have them believe. It used to bother me but I think I can successfully say that I've let that all go.

I've also become obsessed with this place:

(Google images)

The closest one is an hour and a half away but that didn't stop M and I from going twice this past week. They also have 50 cent hot dogs which is just incredible. Can you believe?