The Widening Gyre

November 15, 2010

Reporting to you live from where Wifebian and I are from. Somewhere up North, mid-Atlantic even.

I am in the home of a friend who has left me with her delicious couch, internet connection and cable TV for the morning.

Non-monogamy update: Wifebian and I had a nice talk with Borderline. Prior to this, Wifebian and I had resolved to give Borderline and Green a present. This one  day, all four of our horoscopes were freakishly speaking to one another. I will cut out the horoscopes, give them a copy of The Ethical Slut and a copy of Ashley and Kisha — the most boring porn in the world, but it’s about black lady love and if I’m trying to communicate anything in this situations it’s that our relationships to our partners matter and need to be nourished and treasured.

Baby-making update: I’m feeling more and more confident. The time is coming . . . approaching like a behemoth or a widening gyre. Plus, I had a pregnancy dream last night.

Reasons to be hopeful:

1.) I live in a town teeming with progressive people — straight and gay. If a newspaper ad is going to unearth a low-cost candidate, this is the place.

2.) Wifebian and I get paid once a month at our new jobs. So, although we wont have a health savings account to mine for big chunks of known, budgetable, predictable cash, our jobs will be dumping large lumps sums into each of our accounts every 14 days

3.) Within the year my student loans will be gone, freeing up 500 dollars a month

4.) I am hormonally, structurally, anatomically, physiologically cleared for baby-making

5.) I work and have to care about work for only 72 hours out of the week, leaving 4 days – during the traditional work week, during business hours — to finagle doctors, tanks, customer service representatives and other people’s schedules

6.) My new health insurance covers up to 5,000 dollars of infertility treatment — pills, injections, catheters, consultations

7.) We are expecting massive tax returns this year, especially me, because I just set it up so the government would suck me dry all year and then dump my money back on me this year. “Smart” way to save and invest my money, no. “Highly effective”, yes.

Questions that remain:

1.) Why was my pregesterone at 40 that one time?

2.) Who will be our sperm donor?

3.) What is the new name of that clinic that my coworker used five years ago?

Next steps:

1.) Answer questions above

2.) Seriously propose to Wifebian that we draft an ad, seriously draft ad, consider publications, price it

3.) Complete health insurance paperwork by Friday

4.) Email coworker and see if she wants to meet for lunch. Secretly pray her donor is known and local and deeply committed to starting many lesbian families with his seed

In closing, I can safely say in all confidence that break #1 will be over by February 2011, at the latest. I will be 33 years and 4 months old.


Analytical analysis to follow sooner than expected due to a touch of sleeplessness. Tonight, while walking the dog, I had the sudden, delicious craving for a cold glass of white wine. But I knew Wifebian, who was already zonked out on the couch, would not come out with me. I thought, “I’ll just run to the store.” Which is a ludicrous, dope fiend thing to do on a Wednesday night at 8:30PM  before a 9:30 AM meeting. I did what we tell the people in recovery to do: “Hungry? Lonely? Angry? Tired?” I asked myself . . . well, a little hungry. And promptly forgot about it.

So, tonight, not being able to sleep, I asked myself, “Nap? Caffeine? Lexapro? Cold feet? Hungry? Well, a little hungry. I’m still hungry!” That was after I already took a half a valium, but I went ahead and ate a half a turkey sandwich anyway. Getting out all of my emotional hubba-ba-loo should really put this problem to bed — in a way that snuggling my wife’s butt, keeping my feet covered, counting sheep and reading Newsweek has not.

So, this guy, in Newsweek, quoted W.S. Merwin. In describing the process of writing a poem, our friend Merwin said, “Anyday now, I’ll make a knife out of this cloud.” And that’s kind of how I feel about my life. Yes, my life is a poem. And I would like it to take some sort of shape already. I know that change blah is the only blah constant blah blah, but I do crave a good five year run in which I have the same wife, the same house, and the same kids. And the same job. Should I be greedy and want the same car and the same dog and the same health, too, all at this mythical same time?

So, the deal is that there were two jobs, one in Haywood County working in two schools and one in Jackson County, about an hour away from Asheville. They didnt offer me the Haywood job, don’t know why, and I wouldnt take the Jackson job because it was really going to be three different jobs, in seven different places, spread out over hell’s half acre. So, that’s the thing with interviews. It’s a rare, rare agency that gives you any feedback into the hows and whys of your acceptance or rejection. So, it’s hard to get worked up about it. Rejection. Or even acceptance, really.

In addition to the 17,000 dollar pay cut (or was it 18,000?), they did not offer a health savings account so, baby-making was going to be put on a back burner with no pilot light. Foster care, too, since we wouldve had to find a studio apartment to shelter us as Wifebian waited tables, I spent my retirement on COBRA payments and our personal finances fell down around our ears.

So, back to plan “B”. (Asheville was plan D, Baltimore plan C — are you keeping track?) This mystery place another year, a foster kid or two, baby-making in January, supervision toward Maryland licensure and another roll of the dice come March, April and May. Baltimore has lots of opportunities. I will do my best to stay in good touch with this one Asheville agency.

Also, when I do start a new blog, to mark the advent of my new, possibly perfect and same life, rather than this bitter little slap dash series of emergencies, fuck ups and compromises I have going here, I will reveal my name, my face, my city AND I might have the best blog name of all time, thanks to W.S. Merwin: Knives and Clouds. Or Knives from Clouds. Or Clouds and Knives. I mean, does that sound too goth? How about just: Any Day Now.

I would like to thank Wifebian, as she has thanked me, for being so generous of spirit, flexible of thought and courageous of heart in the middle of all this crazy-ass wayfinding we’re doing. That’s another good blog name: Wayfinding. Or Dead Reckoning. How about Desire Line? Oooo, Desire Line . . . I like it!

We: (kissing).

Me: (in the driveway, in the driver’s seat, on the way to Asheville, all packed and ready to go.) I mean, how do people ever break up? How could people feel this way one year and then end of breaking up because I just love you so much right now.

She: (offers me a mint.) Here, you need this.


We: (laying in bed after nookie.)

Me: Did you bring your knife?

She: No, I just brought the strap-on. That would be great though to [insert terribly kinky thing here] every year, that would be so romantic.

Me: Yeah, totally, but I was thinking that I want to turn this dress into a shirt and I needed your knife.