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The Mockingbird who won’t STFU

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There is a fucking mockingbird in a tree in our backyard, right by our bedroom window. Said mockingbird does not sleep. Ever. Instead, it chirps incessantly starting from 12AM-4AM. And I lie awake along with it, my mind on the same chirping feedback loop, imagining that my ovaries are hardening like stones inside of my body. It’s a terrifying image…I go through bouts where I’m “ok” about PCOS, and other times like tonight where I feel absolutely disgusted with my body, realizing there is some process that is deeply flawed in me, yet unable to be pinpointed. After 2 hours of this nonsense, I decided to wake up and blog.

Marriage counseling wasn’t a total bust, but to be honest, I wasn’t totally impressed with our therapist. She was nice and all, and didn’t play favorites, but part of her technique (I guess you’d call it a technique?) was asking a lot of what I call “yes or no feelings questions”. Rather than ask, “How does that make you feel?” and get us to open up on our own,  she’d say, “I can sense you’re feeling really under appreciated, is that right?”Me: “Umm…yes?” Or, “It sounds like you’re really hurt about that.” Hubs: “Yeah, it really hurts.”


I just felt like I could have come up with that “insight” after taking a stroll through the self help section at my local Kindle store.Not to mention, yes or no questions make it hard to explore feelings.

I am still confused on how we are going to sort through all of our shit. I’m currently still feeling quite maritally constipated. The anger I feel at being kept off the deed to a home that I help pay for, and the anger Hubs has at me for being asked to be added to the deed feels enormous.

When Hubs asked her if we could go more than once a week to really get into some issues (which I was impressed with), she said she didn’t normally do that unless it was “an emergency.” Well lady,  I’m so hurt about all the deed to the house shit  that I don’t want to bring kids into this situation (not like I could anyway, because I’m infertile–an added bonus!) and Hubs and I rarely go a few days without fighting. So maybe that’s not an “emergency” in her book, but it sure as fuck is one in mine. She’s getting one more chance to prove herself on Thursday, but I’m still going to look around for someone else.

Did I mention that on Saturday morning I was awoken to the blissful sounds of rushing water? You might ask, “were you by a stream, Sunny? Or perhaps overlooking a glorious waterfall?” No, sillies…it was the sound of my front yard being flooded due to a busted PVC pipe underground near our water main, creating a geyser of fun for the whole family. We have a repair guy coming today, but this home is a source of frustration all around right now.

Also, our beloved Beta fish, Alfie, committed “suicide” on Thursday. I will preface this by saying that for Hubs and I, Alfie was our pride and joy. He came to the side of the tank when he was going to be fed, he responded when we walked by, he was even getting close to being able to nibble a food pellet right off my finger. We don’t have any dogs or cats, so Alfie was it. Thursday morning, before I went to work, I lovingly cleaned Alfie’s tank. His tank is right by a window near our kitchen sink, and is actually a nice looking flower vase that we converted into a “tank” for him. Needless to say, the vase doesn’t have a lid. In cleaning his tank, I filled the water level up fairly high, but I didn’t think anything of it. When I left that morning, Alfie was swimming around happily. Then, around 4PM, I got “the call”. It was my Hubs saying he had bad news. He had walked by Alfie’s tank, and he wasn’t there, which is odd, since, I don’t know, fish don’t have freaking LEGS. Frantically, he searched for him, and found him lying lifeless on our kitchen sink. Alfie had been so happy, so excited to be swimming around that day, he sailed right over the edge of his tank and into a cold sink with dirty dishes. Hubs had no idea how long he’d been out of the water. He picked Alfie up with a spoon, and Alfie unexpectedly started twitching. Putting him back in the water immediately, Alfie began darting around the tank haphazardly, until he nose dove into the gravel, and that’s where he was when I came home, pale and twitching, a heartbreakingly opposite version on the Alfie I had left in the morning. I cried when I saw him, this poor little creature who was dying because I filled his tank up too high.

He took his last twitch around 6PM, and we buried him in a potted plant out back with blue Alfie-colored flowers.