When it became evident that Mr. Bunny and I were going to get married some day, I made sure he understood that I didn’t want an engagement ring. Don’t get me wrong, I think the symbolism is lovely, but something about it just isn’t ME. At the time, I wore two rings I’d been wearing since I was sixteen, both purchased from a jewelry table on Telegraph Avenue when I first moved to Berkeley. I didn’t want to replace either of them unless it was with a wedding ring. So when he did propose, Mr. Bunny got me a necklace instead. It’s a silver acorn, and you can see the vague idea of it in my wedding photo. I wore it to my first beta blood draw and I’m wearing it today.
It’s not that I believe it has any power to protect me. Shit, if that were the case…I’d rent it out to all of you, and become a BAJILLIONAIRE. No, I guess touching it reminds me that we will survive if today’s news is bad. It seems impossible right now. But I’ve seen with my own eyes that women can survive this not working out. Thank you for the courage you’ve shown me. I know you didn’t do it for my benefit, but it benefits me anyway.
Meanwhile, this time they’ve got the right fucking phone number, so I may actually find out by 1pm. AND, today’s phlebotomist was not the normal mean lady (because lord knows what you need when being stuck with needles is a lady who’s like PUT YOUR ARM HERE! HOLD THIS! SNARL! YOU INTERRUPTED ME WHEN I WAS SHOPPING FOR SHOES ONLINE, IN THIS HORRIBLE LITTLE HOLE THEY PUT ME IN, AND I RETALIATE FOR THIS AWFUL HOLE BY HAVING LOADS OF STUFF ABOUT JESUS AND GOING TO HEAVEN ALL OVER MY WALLS! which is not to say I object to Jesus or going to heaven in principle, but it just makes the experience feel a little…judgey), but instead an awesome young guy with a bleached afro mohawk, who was chatty and told me all about how he hates having blood drawn. So that was nice.
On the side of bad, Mr. Bunny had to leave town again today. His father decided to spend his retirement driving around the national parks in an RV, and thinks it’s a good idea to have people visit him and camp out in the RV, and Mr. Bunny’s turn has come. (I happen to think asking people to visit you in the most inconvenient places and ways imaginable is selfish, which is why I refused to go along, and thank god I did.) So it’s South Dakota for Mr. Bunny. I’ll text him the news, and we’re going to try to squeeze a phone call in between his layover in Minneapolis and my department meeting. God, it’s absurd.
This is one MANIC post, isn’t it? It’s just ’cause I’m scared.