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February 13, 2001

Here I am stuck in northern New Jersey, 25 weeks pregnant, and absolutely miserable. It wouldn’t be so bad, really, if I had someone to talk to, or something to take all of this rage out of my mind and body. Sometimes it gets so bad that I just start shaking and grinding my teeth. I don’t even know what triggers it. It can’t be good for the baby forming inside of me. He or She must be able to sense this hopeless/helplessness I’m feeling.

I used to be a creative person. I used to love to create art. Seriously. I preferred using my fingertips rather than a paintbrush when I painted, just to get that much more swallowed up by my art. I used to hike out into this clearing in the woods by my house in Ohio and do charcoal drawings every afternoon. Why can’t I do it anymore? Why can’t I find the desire to do it anymore?

It’s 3:39 pm. I’m on my second can of America’s Choice Cola. I’m not supposed to have more than one caffeinated beverage a day, but sometimes I can’t help myself. Screw it! I can do whatever I want. This is my life. SO DEAL WITH IT!

Maybe if the situation were a little different, and I could be at home in Ohio with my friends and family I’d be having an easier time with this pregnancy, but as it is… I am miserable.