Angsty Dreamer. . .

Anyone available for some free psychoanalysis on this one?

For several years, I've had a recurring nightmare with the basic premise that I'm late to my first class of the last semester of my senior year at Baylor. Sometimes I mess up and go to my Tues./Thurs. class instead of my Mon./Wed./Fri. class. Sometimes I just oversleep. Sometimes I can't find the right building. A few times, I've been late because I couldn't find a restroom and I had to pee (yeah, I drink too much water before bed).

Last night, in a new twist, I dreamed that James accompanied me to my first day of class, but when I got to my religion class, it had been changed to something else. So we had to track down a class catalog to determine where I was supposed to be for class at 9 a.m. And we couldn't find one anywhere. So I missed my first class and was freaking out. Then I woke up.

Why, almost six years after graduating, am I dreaming that I'm late to class? It's always upsetting, and I'm tired of it! My best guess is that the dream represents some underlying anxiety about my life, but I'm not sure what it is. . .

My Brush with Celebrity

I just noticed that I'm on childsplayx2's blogroll! I am duly honored.

For anyone who might be reading my blog anew (and, as you can tell from my comments, I get TONS of readers!), I assure you that I won't write about my girly bits every day. I have a rich, full life that includes:

• A job in marketing for a small non-profit organization
• A wonderful husband who also has more to do than just get me knocked up
• A love of good books, good red wine, and good country music (i.e., Johnny Cash)
• A belief system that is both liberal and Christian (the two are NOT mutually exclusive, no matter what the "religious" right has to say)
• A major crush on TiVo
• A nerdy obsession with grammar
• A whole host of neuroses that will become obvious the more I write

So, see? I'm all kinds of fun. Unless you're a conservative, corporate, non-reader who can't spell, doesn't drink, hates sex and TV, and listens to Barry Manilow all day. Then, I'm probably not so great.

Guess I'm Taking This Class Pass/Fail

In a rather depressing example of getting a cart and then realizing, "Uh oh, we might not have a horse," I've decided to test the ole ovulation to see if it's actually happening - after seven months of trying to conceive. I've always felt like such a fertile myrtle, but I have heretofore had zero evidence of that assumption.

So, I get to undertake the ignominious task of peeing on a stick every day for a week and surmising vital biological data from the process. I'm anxious about my basic female-ness in a way that I haven't been since I was 12 and anticipating puberty. My inner nerd wants to study for the test, but I can't figure out how. . .

My Ovaries are Losers

I was SO sure this time, but I'm not pregnant yet again. Apparently my boobs decided to ache just to toy with my emotions - bastards. In between bouts of self-pity, I've been contemplating the following:

-- Once you start paying attention to something, you suddenly see it everywhere.
-- There are some ways in which I am exactly the same person I was when I was 12.
-- God's timing and my timing are sometimes very different.
-- Sometimes you don't know how much you want something until you don't get it.
-- Faithfulness is at the same time a very practical matter and entirely impractical.