Libby's Journal - November

November 1

Well, we had a great Halloween night, but that is basically our favorite holiday and we always do it well. We went to our main party location, the college town that I've mentioned a few times. The main party was at Lia's, but we hit several of the other bars and dance places first.

Although most of the girls were Vikings as planned, I decided to be Supergirl. The past few days, I have been feeling SO great and am finally clicking up to a high point again. The kryptonite was all gone, and Supergirl regained her lost powers just in time to save the day. And my costume was absolutely fabulous. I had my little red cape and my red boots, but the rest of my costume was that amazing, sexy latex, which Mona helped me apply. My idea for the skirt worked perfectly also, although it was quite short, and I had to be mindful not to display myself to the general public.

We went to some of the usual bars, and I did a lot of dancing. Mona danced with me the first part of the evening, but she is still recovering from having twisted her ankle last week, so she eventually had to take it easy. Jayne and Dana danced too, but I always outlast everyone and am content to dance by myself if need be. Another thing I had learned last year about the latex was it doesn't breathe, and if you get hot and sweaty, it starts to lose its adhesion, and I was aware of it sliding around on my skin. I liked that, though, because it felt even more precarious and fragile and I knew it would not take much for it to come off. And, of course, I had intentionally not brought any backup clothing because what would be the fun in that?

We hooked up with some other chicks who were also Vikings, so by the time we got to Lia's there was a big table of rowdy lesbian Vikings drinking beer out of glass mugs and speaking in bad Swedish accents. Mona, who grew up in Minnesota, can actually do a great Nordic accent, but everybody else sounded like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets.

And of course, it didn't take them long to start singing the "Bwoonhilda" song from the Bugs Bunny version of Wagner's opera. So all the Vikings would sing the Elmer Fudd part -- "Bwoonhillda, you're so wuv-wee" and then Jayne, being the wench, would sing the Bugs part -- "Yes, I know it, I cahn't help it." and then all the Vikings would sing together, "Bwoonhilda, be-ee my WUV!" Which was funny the first 18 or 19 times, but they pretty well wore it out by the end of the evening.

If you haven't been to Lia's place, or if you haven't been for a long time, it has changed quite a bit since last year. Then it was just a little bar-restaurant in an ancient brick rowhouse, but since then, she has expanded into the next shop so that there is a big dining area and a separate bar area, which has become the local lesbian watering hole. And she has also renovated the second floor so that it is one huge loft where she lives and socializes. (Lia has at least one million very close personal friends, so she needs lots of room to entertain).

We all eventually ended up in the private loft area upstairs and that is where I knew I was going to lose my costume. I was already acquainted with most of the people around us, and quickly made friends with the other women. I explained to everyone how my costume was made, and I let them touch it to feel how rubbery it was. Naturally, I explained that it was quite fragile and could potentially fall right off of me if I wasn't careful. I did this partly to flirt, but also to make sure no one would be confused about what I knew was about to take place.

I busied myself doing the "Supergirl Dance" (in which you make a lot of arm movements like you are about to whooosh off to fight crime) and I heard someone yell, "Help, Supergirl, help!" It was Jayne who was having her boobs fondled by the nefarious Viking Gang! Well, the mighty Supergirl sprang into action, dashing across the room and leaping into the mosh-pit of Vikings, who (as we all knew they would) grabbed at Supergirl's costume and ripped handfuls of it from her sweaty little body. Although Supergirl eventually prevailed -- defending liberty, justice and busty wenches -- her costume was gone except for her red boots and cape.

Our audience up on the loft was not entirely surprised by what happened -- partly because of my hints, but also Mona, Andrea and Lia had gone around making their little whispers. So when it happened, everyone applauded and agreed by consensus that THIS version of Supergirl's outfit was surely the best one.

I was, of course, off-the-charts excited because all evening I had been eagerly anticipating the moment when my already revealing and already precarious latex supersuit would get utterly destroyed, leaving me naked miles from home at a party with no backup clothing available to me. Naturally, Mona had made sure this would take place in a safe but exciting environment. The teeny-tiny rational part of my brain peeked out to check on the situation and told me everything was fine. We were upstairs in the private loft area with 30 or 40 other women, but I already knew more than half of them and had been introduced to the others while I was still wearing my latex so I was pretty comfortable with that group.

Access to the loft was guarded by a badass-looking chick wearing dark glasses (she goes by "Iggy," but her parents named her "Ilsa Giselle"). I could look down at the public party below, but the solid railing made it hard for anyone down there to see me, and if they did, it would only be above the waist. Lia was being a good hostess, going back and forth between floors and stopping to chat with people along the way. She witnessed my disrobing and gave me a smile and a thumbs up of reassurance, so I told that little rational part of my brain that it could take the rest of the night off.

Mona and several of the other Vikings decided this was a good time to take off their papier mache breastplates, some of which had gotten damaged in the battle with Supergirl, and while some of the girls had worn little tops under the breastplates, Mona had not, and so she was now topless.

Throughout the evening, there had been very danceable music (not a live band, but just a playlist of great songs), and of course, I danced a lot -- which was even more fun to do after I was naked. I never dance in a sexy way, just my regular normal dancing, but I realize everything looks sexy when you are dancing naked in front of people, and if while you are dancing naked you cannot help but hop up and down because you have so much energy it feels like you could achieve liftoff at Cape Canaveral, this will likely result in significant bouncing even if you are a girl of modest means.

After dancing to a song or two, I would either rejoin our table or mingle my way around the loft chatting with women I barely knew. Naturally, everyone remarked on my "costume," and I would do a little Supergirl pose for them -- which of course gave them permission to look at me without pretending they weren't. And yes, I was ultra turned on but doing my best not to let on.

It was getting late in the evening when I heard the first few notes of Van Morrison's "Stranded"coming over from the speaker, and I looked through the crowd and saw Mona looking back at me. It's a special song for us because we danced to it the night we first met.

I made my way to our table and she stood up and was ready to go with me to the dance floor, but I stopped her because she wasn't wearing her horn hat. I picked it up from the table and positioned it on her head just so -- my topless red-haired Viking girl -- and then we went out on the floor.

I love slowdancing with Mona when we are both nude or at least topless because we are the same height and can let our bare nipples graze each other. That level of intimacy normally only happens when we are home alone or just with our closest friends. It was breathtakingly sexy to be doing it in front of so many people. We were subtle about it so I don't think people were aware of our technique.

That song is more than five minutes long, so by the time it was over, I was experiencing conflicting emotions. I had a powerful urge to hurry home with Mona to have multiple orgasms (I figured I had at least three in me, possibly four), but I did not want to leave the party. Sadly, it was late and things were winding down anyways, though I was not. We'd come with a group, so Mona went around to check in with others to see what they wanted to do, and after some discussion, our group began gathering up its scattered purses, shoes and horn hats while Mona paid the tab and put her breastplate back on.

All of this took a while, so I made use of the time by going around the remaining crowd offering hugs to anyone who wanted one -- exulting in the touch of their hands on my bare skin (even when my butt cheeks got a little action). As I worked through the crowd, I found myself drawn to a giant antique mirror Lia had on one of the walls -- the kind with the gold-painted ornate plaster frames. I stood in front of it pretending to fix my hair, but really I just wanted to see myself naked in this setting and surrounded by people. In the reflection, I could see that everyone was watching me. While my left hand continued to busy itself in my hair as a misdirection, I put my right thumb in my belly button and spread my fingers wide down my body. I have found from occasional practice that this puts one's pinky in just the right place to subtly apply a little pressure without it looking like one is doing what one is doing. As I did this, I looked at every reflected face in the mirror, including my own, and I was in love with us all. This, incidentally, is the place in the story where that little rational part of my brain would normally interject with a prudent suggestion, but it had already gone to bed and put out its light. Perhaps fortunately, Mona and the girls were now ready to go.

Lia led us down a little-used back stairway, and suddenly we were out in the crisp autumn night, a few random raindrops plopping down on my skin. We still had to walk a block or so to our cars, and lots of people saw me. There were some whistles and shouts, but it was all friendly, and besides, I knew I had a pretty impressive entourage of dyke Vikings to protect me, so I was comfortable strolling along waving and blowing kisses at my admirers.

* * * * *

November 3

We had a nice weekend. Saturday was beautifully sunny, but the night before, there had been a hard frost that finally zapped my cosmos, which had been thriving lavishly right up til then. Just the day before, I had stood there admiring them, tall as me almost, still producing buds in November while autumn leaves fell all around me. And then that morning all the blossoms were drooped and folded in on themselves, all dead. And yet it was so sunny and bright that day. It seemed out of place that anything would die on such a day.

And then this morning I lay on my stomach on the bed while Mona prepared my shot. I was not looking at her, but in the corner of my eye, I could see her snapping the glass tops off of the vials, mixing the liquid and the powder, and holding the syringe up against the light from the window to squeeze out any air bubbles. She sat on the edge of the bed, and I felt the cold of the alcohol on my skin. I closed my eyes so I would not see the motion of her hand as she jabbed it into me. It hurt, but just for a moment. And then she patted my butt and said it was all done.

I went to church by myself while Mona worked out at Andrea's. She goes to church with me sometimes, but usually I go alone. It's a small Catholic church in a rundown neighborhood, and for the most part, the congregation is a small core group of people who all know each other. Some people live in the neighborhood and others, like me, drive in from a completely other town. I am often moved to tears at church, but not because of anything about my sins or Jesus saving me or anything like that. It is more because I feel such a strong connection between my life and the lives of everyone else on this planet, and to the planet itself.

During the call for prayers anyone in the congregation can speak up to ask for a prayer -- and these range from a sick relative to a protest at Fort Benning -- and I started to say something simple but when I opened my mouth more came out than I planned (which happens to me a lot) and I babbled on about my possible infertility and even Mae and how I feel her presence and it is as if maybe God sent her spirit, or even just a memory of her to comfort me. Naturally, I cried throughout this, which is what I do and everyone is used to it.

So then, finally, I shut up and everyone said "God hear our prayer," which is what we say after everyone's prayer request. And then two or three other people offered their prayers also and then just when the priest thought there were no more and he was starting to wrap it up there was another voice and I turned to see a very old man I had not seen before, probably a resident of the apartment building a block from the church where lots of old people live. And his voice was thin and everyone strained to hear him and he said he didn't need any special prayers for himself, but that he wanted to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for "this young lady over here" -- and he pointed right at me -- because he said God gives His abundance to each of us every day, but that most people didn't hardly notice or appreciate it, but that he felt blessed by what I had said because I was "drinking up" God's abundance which is what God wants us to do with the time He has blessed us with. And when everyone said, "God hear our prayer," the sound of their voices went through me, and I just felt filled up, and I imagined all of that good energy traveling through my bloodstream and going straight to my ovaries.

Later in the service, we had the Passing of the Peace, which, if you have been to a Catholic Church (and some Protestant churches), you know that is when you turn to your neighbor and say "peace be with you," which normally takes 10 seconds. But at my church, the Passing of the Peace takes about 10 minutes because we leave our seats and wander around hugging each other and giving personal blessings. So I made my way to the old man, stopping along the way to pass the peace. When I got to him, I thanked him for what he said, and I noticed he had such young-looking eyes, even though the skin around them was old and droopy, like a young man in an old man suit. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "This is your time, young lady," and I babbled something in return, and then someone interrupted me to hug me, and then it was time to go back to our seats. I saw him again during Eucharist, but after church was over, he was not there.

If you are familiar with my theology, you know this was one heck of an Athena Moment., but again, this does not mean I think he was not a real person. I'm sure he was a real person, but I think it wasn't just a coincidence that we both came to church that particular Sunday.

* * * * *

November 6

It is 4 a.m. and I have not slept, so I got up, and I am sitting here in my favorite room with my blanket draped around my shoulders. It is one of those smallish blankets that you cover up your legs with in the car or whatever and quite old -- I had it growing up -- so now it is threadbare but very soft and in the wintertime I fold it in a triangle and wear it over my shoulders like a poncho when I get cold.

Somehow, it became 5:30, and Mona came looking for me and brought me back to bed, where I finally slept. She didn't want to disturb me in the morning and made her own coffee. She kissed me awake to tell me she was leaving for work, but that she would come back home if I needed her. I told her I was fine, and I slept some more. Now it is 10:30, and I am awake and feeling okay, but I don't know what to do with the rest of the day.

And speaking of Time, you know how in science fiction stories they sometimes portray Time as being not linear but sorta all happening at the same time but in different dimensions or something? Well, I was thinking, what if my life and Mae's life are happening "at the same time" here in this house, but we are not aware of each other. She lived here for about 50 years, and we think of that as "past", but what if it is all happening right now also?

That is a weird thing to think about, and I kinda creeped myself out a couple of times, like when you get that paranoid feeling that someone is watching you, which almost never happens to me here. But mostly, it was a nice feeling, picturing Mae in the kitchen while I was there. It was like I was sharing the space with her -- like two people working in a kitchen together, but each is making something different. And we both sing while we work; that is something that I am somehow convinced we have in common. A different era of music, of course, just as she and I are completely different. I am liable to be bopping around naked in the kitchen singing "I'm So Excited" like the less-talented fourth Pointer Sister and bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet so much that the dishes rattle in the cupboards but I am pretty sure Mae was always fully dressed in the kitchen and probably wore an apron too, but I just KNOW she sang, I can almost hear her sometimes. What would it have been? Probably Frank Sinatra or something. Sometimes I sing the Alison Krause songs from "O Brother Where Art Thou?" and that fits her era pretty well, and those are songs that sound best when harmonized, so I like to imagine Mae and me singing it together. I wonder if she would like me?

* * * * *

November 7

Although I have other fine napping locations in the house (and a hammock outside when the weather is nice), I mostly prefer napping in this chair, partly because of the sun and the comfort, but also partly because it is in this particular room. I have a lot of emotional energy invested here. My computer is here, of course, and the big double window that I gaze out of while I wait to be inspired, but I also have my artwork table with all my painting stuff, and I have my desk with all my journals since I was eight lined up on the shelves. And I have my sprawling collage on the walls. I cut out faces and other interesting bits from art magazines and gallery brochures, and I paste them right onto the plaster walls, my own personal wallpaper, and it trails along at eye-level across two walls and part of the door. It is a long, skinny room, so the main wall of art is quite extensive these days, and along the opposite side, the wall slants with the roof line, and there are two nice skylights that fill the room with filtered light, which is important to me. I like light, but I much prefer natural light, and I like rooms where you don't need artificial light except at night. And when you paint, natural light is absolutely necessary.

So anyways, I was curled up under my little blanket on my favorite chair in my special room and snoozing really really well when in my dreams I heard two particular sounds. One was a woman singing, and the other was a baby fussing. It took me a while to fully wake up and for a long while I had my eyes open looking at a Vermeer portrait staring back at me from where it was glued to the wall, and it took quite a long while before I was fully aware of where I was and who that face was I was looking at, and during that time it never occurred to me to wonder who was singing to that fussy baby.

And then the sounds suddenly stopped, and I was fully awake, but the memory of it was still in my ears, and I sat there a long time trying to keep it in my head because it was such a beautiful sound. The baby had started out crying but had gradually settled down and was just fussing a little, and the mother's lullaby was enchanting to me. No actual words, but a soothing melodic voice singing notes without any words needed.

As I sat there looking around this very familiar room, my eyes trailed along the marks on the wall and ceiling that showed where an interior wall had long ago been removed, making two small rooms into one long one. That bit of remodeling happened a long time ago, and we had noticed the evidence of it before.

I had never thought about how the different upstairs rooms had been used by Mae's family, but now I did and I could guess which room was Mae and Ed's bedroom and which ones were the kids'. And then it hit me. The smaller of these two original rooms would have been the nursery, where each of the babies started out. And then much later on, perhaps after the older kids had grown and moved out, Ed and Mae knocked out the interior wall to give one of the remaining kids a larger room. Or something like that -- I don't know why they did it, but they did.

The point is: MY room was originally two little rooms and ONE of those rooms would almost certainly have been the nursery because it was the smallest of all of the original bedrooms. So right there across the room where my art table is right now, there was probably a crib and a changing table and a rocking chair where Mae would come and sit with her baby in her arms, singing a lullaby.

I have kept that lullaby in my head, not wanting to lose it. I even tape-recorded myself singing it just in case I forget it. I'm not necessarily saying I HEARD Mae singing to her baby across Time -- oh heck, maybe I AM saying that. At least I think that is a possibility, and it felt so much stronger than a dream -- though my dreams have a history of being compelling, and my Fertility Quest is a recurring theme. But what ARE dreams anyways? If Time is not linear but somehow happens all together and we are just aware of our own little portion of it, then maybe it is not such a leap to think that now and then a little bit of one time spills over to another one. It's a nice thought anyways. And whatever the explanation, it is still nice to know that my special room used to be a nursery. That by itself is a big deal to me.

Well, when I started this entry I meant to say that Tomorrow we go to see "Dr. Ken", who will examine my ovaries to see if they have produced some ripe and juicy eggs he can harvest and put back in me with Jack's certifiably-healthy sperm. Mona has been giving me shots of Pergonal every morning and evening and she is getting very professional at it. I told her I'm gonna buy her a long white lab coat.

As a few of you know from the poor timing of your phone calls, I have had occasional moments of paranoia when I convince myself that my ovaries were becoming overstimulated and were ready to explode. That is an actual possibility in Pergonal treatment, but that is why you go back to the doctor during the treatment so's he can check you out. But rationality has never been my strong suit, and when I am obsessing on negative fears, rationality doesn't help much. Most of the time I'm okay, though, and when she is home with me, Mona wraps her strong arms around me and keeps me safe.

* * * * *

November 8:

Yesterday was a pretty wonderful day. The weather was so lovely -- mid-60s and sunny and the leaves are at their peak, just past their peak, I'd say -- and the Amazing Nature Girl spent all afternoon outside, not even wearing shoes. I did some raking in the part of the property where we have a lawn (not much) and I tore down my tomato plants and such. And I got my new compost bin going -- last year's is ripe and ready to go into next spring's garden.

It was so warm out that with the exertion of raking and other exercise, I was feeling as free as if it were summer. And I ran. I dropped my rake and ran, all of a sudden, as if someone had shouted "get set, GO!" and I was in a race. I am not really a person who runs regularly for exercise, but I do sem-regularly become so infused with Something that I run and run until I am winded. I ran up the hill because I wanted to run uphill. I wasn't thinking of anything, but just running through the leaves and among the pine trees and up and up to the top, aware of and grateful for the grace of my lungs, and the air, and This Day.

I knew the trail would take me past Jack's house but I wasn't going to stop and knock on his door because my body did not want to stop running, but he was outside fixing something on the porch and I ran up to him and he saw me just in time to catch me as I threw my arms around him. I squeezed him as tight as I could and said, "thank you" in his ear about a dozen times in two seconds, and then I kissed him right on the mouth just like we used to, tears now on my cheeks, and I knew Mona would not mind because she loved him too now, and my heart was overflowing with joy.

He smiled at me but his eyes told me he was concerned and as I ran away from him I yelled, "I'm fine!" and I ran down the hill and looked back to see if he was watching, and he was so I did a cartwheel for him, but I didn't stick the landing and rolled in the leaves and then I was up and running some more, not winded at all, just running flat out now, racing to Jayne's, across the old wooden bridge over the creek, sploosh-sploosh thru the Always Muddy Part and around the old farmhouse, stomping up the back porch steps, winning the race.

I saw Jayne and her sister Jackie through the window of their kitchen door, both of them looking surprised as I slipped on the wet leaves on the wooden porch and landed on my bottom on the welcome mat.

I'm glad it was just her sister and not her mother or someone else I don't know. Me and Jackie have been over there a lot at the same time, usually when Jayne is trying to meet a deadline with her garden statuaries and needs some help with the molds and stuff. So Jackie has seen me naked, and come to think of it, I don't think she has ever seen me not naked.

But anyways, Jayne had company, and I didn't intend to stop anyways, certainly not by landing on my butt in the doorway. But they had just baked muffins, and I got me one, still warm, and gobbled it up. I drank a few sips of Jayne's coffee, even though I don't drink coffee but she puts lots of cream and sugar in hers and it's not bad that way and hers was lukewarm and I drank a big gulp to wash down the muffin and it was like I hadn't eaten in days. And while eating I started telling Jackie all about Mae, who grew up in Jayne's house, the original farmhouse, right there where we stood, but of course Jayne had already heard it all before and took the liberty of summarizing whole chunks of my narrative into a few sentences, which sometimes ticks me off because I don't like being abstracted, but at that moment I didn't mind because I was in a hurry anyways, needing to get moving again so I did, running up the hill and towards home.

As I ran towards my house, my dogs came to greet me, and they ran in circles around me while I ran as fast as I could, but not nearly as fast as they can go. I was winded as I slowed to a walk and saw myself reflected in a window, and I had an odd feeling, looking at my house and my door and my gardens and my window up there where I normally look out and not in. I felt as if I had been away for a very long time, but I suppose it had been 20 minutes or so. I took a wonderful hot shower and then burrowed under my bedcovers, where I took advantage of myself and then slept.

I woke an hour or so later dreaming of old fashioned music again so I got on the internet and searched for popular songs of the 1940s and 1950s, and I downloaded mp3s of Doris Day and Rosemary Clooney and people like that and I played them on the downstairs computer while I got dinner started and pretty soon I knew all the words almost by heart and me and Mae did us some harmonizing. By the time Mona came home, I was no longer playing the recordings, but I sang "Secret Love" to her in full, confident voice as I tended to dinner. It was like being in a musical where two characters are doing something very ordinary, like welcoming the working spouse home and getting ready for dinner, but because it is a musical one of the characters bursts into song and glides around the kitchen singing as she serves up the food and pours the wine, kissing the tired working spouse a few times as she does so (timed to the cadence of the song of course). Granted, most musical numbers of that era in American Musical Theatre did not conclude with Doris Day receiving oral sex right there on the kitchen table (I suspect Mae was embarrassed), but hey, it's the 21st Century now. We gotta update those old-time storylines a bit, dontcha think?

Well, that all happened yesterday, and today the weather has been gloriously pretty also. I am not nearly so revved up, but I am not Going Down either, which sometimes happens after a good spree. But today, I just feel kinda quiet and waiting. This afternoon, we go to see Dr. Ken, and only then will I know if things are going well or not. If things look really good, we might do that GIFT thing right then and there. Jack is going with us to the appointment and so we will have our guns at the ready so to speak. Or it could be bad news like, sorry but your ovaries are so hopeless that you STILL got no decent eggs, you egg-challenge, dried up old . . .

Buuuuut I try not to dwell on that. I feel a little tender in my ovaries, which is sign that SOMEthing is going on, I figure.

The wind is blowing strong, and the leaves are just falling off these trees outside my window. It is so pretty out. I kinda wish I felt like running.

* * * * *

Later that day . . .

Well, it didn't go well. Not terrible and not good either. Dr. Ken said my levels seem "good," but "not quite where we want 'em." I probably got one ripe egg in there, he said, but he wants to hold out to see if we can get two or three big fat juicy ones going, so we are continuing the Pergonal through the weekend and are gonna go see him first thing Monday to see where we are.

But I could tell he was disappointed that I was not a good patient, or something. I dunno what it was, but things just did not seem right to me. The way he talked, it was like he was not telling me everything, or at least that is how it seemed, but I had to remind myself that sometimes things seem off-kilter to me, and it is me who is off-kilter, not everyone else. But still . . .

One nice thing, I thought. When I came out of the doctor's office back into the waiting room, Mona and Jack were sitting there together, holding hands. Isn't that sweet? They were huddled together, talking about me, of course, and holding hands. Man, who would have thought a year or so ago, longer now I guess, but a while ago anyways, who would have thought they'd be such close friends now? Anybody else seeing them in that waiting room would assume they are a couple.

Remember how I said how handsome this doctor is, like "ken doll" handsome, like almost plastic fake handsome? I was lying there in the stirrups, looking at his forehead and his hairline while he talked about restaurants. Something looked strange about his head, and I had this image of, like in the movies, when an alien is wearing a costume made to look like a human, but they don't wear it quite right. Something is off, but you can't quite tell what. And I thought: I don't know anything about this person down there between my legs. I've never actually checked out who he says he is, I don't even know how to do that, and how do I know what is in those little glass vials he gave Mona to inject into me? I don't know what I'm saying exactly. Nothing, probably, I'm just tired and feeling strange. Everything seems strange to me just now. My house even seems strange, as if it were picked up out of the ground and shifted a few degrees counterclockwise, and all the shrubbery and flowers shifted also, and you come home and look at it with a question mark on your face and say, what is different? Maybe it is me who has shifted a few degrees, like I am an almost mirror image of the Libby who belongs in this dimension, but it is not me exactly.

I should just go to bed, I am not saying anything that makes sense. I think Mona is annoyed at me because of how I acted at the doctor's office, asking too many questions, but they tell you to ask questions. He did look at me strange, everyone looked at me strange. Like they know something they don't want to tell me yet. Like there is something strange about me. Like I am a science project they are studying and they are turning me into something and I am not supposed to know about it until I suddenly sprout a tail or something . . . which would probably give it away.

* * * * *

November 9

I have been all revved up on mania lately, and this morning we woke up to snow! Mona was still asleep, but I woke up early and went downstairs to start her coffee, and I saw that it had snowed overnight. It was so beautiful I went outside and just ran and ran out into it, but I wasn't even wearing shoes. I finally turned around, but by then, I was pretty far out, and the run back was not as fun because my toes were starting to complain. Every time I do this, I always tell myself to be sure to wear shoes next time, but even when I leave her polite reminders, Future Me does not always take my advice.

When I got back to the house, the coffee was done, so I poured a cup for Mona and took it back upstairs with me. I put it on her bed table and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I crawled in next to her, making sure not to put my cold feet on her.

I love the weekends because Mona is home, and we get to sleep in together. We generally wake up at the usual time, get up and pee and brush our teeth, and then go back to bed to snuggle and snooze and usually, well, you know. Altho Mona does not generally go without clothing around the house the way I do, she does sleep that way, which is important to me. In winter, we have a couple of blankets and a quilt on top of clean sheets, and our bodies keep us warm, skin on skin, much better than flannel nightgowns, I am sure.

This morning, after we went back to bed and Mona drifted off again, I lay there in her arms feeling just fine. I like to look at the detail of her skin, up close, at such times. Morning light was in the room, and I examined the familiar pattern of freckles on her cheeks and her shoulders, and I kissed her white neck, and I scoonched myself down under the covers and began kissing her breasts. She woke and tried to pull me up, but I had my arms wrapped around her waist, and I held on tight because I was not done with those nipples yet. Well, one thing led to another, as it usually does.

For some reason, I never feel the presence of Mae or Ed in the bedroom, even though I'm pretty sure it was their room too. They had five or six kids, so there musta been something going on, tho maybe they did most of their procreating while still living next door.

We added the "master bath" to the room and a bigger closet (basically sacrificing one of the other rooms to do that). The original bathroom is down the hall and still has the original fixtures, including a claw-footed tub. The only time it is used is when we have guests, but sometimes it smells in there like somebody just went. Mona says we need to get the main drain roto-rooted, but I suspect it is Ed.

This house was well-built, but it must have settled a little afterwards because it is a teeny bit off-balance. Certain doors tend to swing open or closed. Like, our bedroom door will swing open unless you close it all the way to the latch (which spooked us a couple times when we first moved in). And that original bathroom door tends to swing shut, so sometimes I walk by, and the door is closed even tho I know we left it open. I get a creepy feeling pushing it open, like in a ghost movie, something might be there, and that is when I notice the smell. Lately, I just leave it closed. I don't particularly wanna see Ed in there doing his business.

Mostly, they are in their usual places. Mae is in the kitchen and Ed in his little workshop. Mona and I dragged the table back inside from the porch the other day and put it pretty much back where we found it. It will make a nice breakfast table, but I need to finish the grout work. I wonder if Ed likes it.

They never talk, Mae and Ed. I wonder if they were happy together or if they drifted apart emotionally and led separate internal lives while stepping past each other in their daily routines. That would be sad. I don't want Mona and me to ever be like that. I don't think we will.

* * * * *

November 10

Last night we went to Jayne and Margot's for dinner, just our regular group with them and Andrea and Dana, the people I feel most comfortable with. I was so glad to be with them. They are so funny and intelligent, and I know they are always always on my side and there for me no matter what, which is a secure feeling. Obviously the main person I feel that way about is Mona, but I know my closest friends are always there for me too.

Margot brought out a bottle of fancy Russian vodka that somebody gave her at work, but I didn't have any myself. This was the kind of vodka that you don't mix with anything, and you just throw back shots, which I'm not usually into anyways. Jayne had good music on so while the others were in the kitchen yelling "nostrovia!" as they took their shots, I was in the living room dancing by myself because I just had a lot of energy I needed to burn off before I could sit down long enough to eat dinner.

Mona came to collect me before I got all sweaty, and we all got our plates for dinner. Andrea noticed the bruise on my butt and thought it was from the Pergonal shots but Jayne gave a comic, and somewhat exaggerated I thought, description of my pratfall on her porch the other day. Then I accused Andrea of not reading my online journal and she said she can't keep up with me lately and it is true I have written every single day lately which I normally don't do and had not planned to do but for some reason there just seems to be a lot happening what with the impending Big Event, which is currently scheduled to impend again tomorrow morning.

Jayne made a shrimp and pasta casserole which was good but it coulda been more seasoned and the shells were a trifle undercooked. (This is a test to see if she's keeping up on her reading.)

Mona toasted my "at least one good egg cause that's all it takes anyways" status and everyone drank to that, including me because I don't have to completely avoid wine before I am even pregnant. Heck, there will be plenty of abstaining afterwards so I had me some wine. Margot was curious about the Mae & Ed stuff, and I told her about it (while everyone else rolled their eyes) and she quizzed me about whether I actually SEE them with my eyes or am just imagining them, making up their story. And I told her as I have told Mona when she asks that I am Not Quite That Crazy as to not understand the difference. BUT who freakin knows what your "imagination" really is and I gave her my Missing Sense argument, which is that we humans happen to have five senses thru which we experience Reality, and we think we are therefore seeing all of Reality but that it is kinda ego-centric to assume there can only be those five ways. Suppose we met people from another planet and they had only four of our five senses. How would you explain to those people what your "extra" sense was like. Try describing "hearing" or "smell" conceptually -- it is almost impossible if you don't actually have that sense. And by the same token, there could be additional ways to sense Reality that we do not have.

ANYways, when we came home, we went straight to bed, and I slept great. I woke up before dawn and got up, leaving Mona sleeping. I came downstairs and the house was quiet -- not even Mae was up, that lazybones -- and I stepped out onto the porch to watch the sun come up. I wasn't wearing a sweater or even shoes, but it was not cold at all, which it usually is at that hour. I have seen some wonderful sunrises up here on our hill, but on this particular morning, it was too overcast, and the sky just got lighter without revealing the sun. Cody and Max came out the dog door, stretching their back legs and getting all set to go out for a nice morning poop. They like doing their business in the woods, so I rarely hafta clean up after them except when one of them leaves me a little surprise closer to the house.

The sky was absolutely pregnant with heavy clouds, but it did not look like it would storm, just rain any minute. And it was very warm and calm. I picked up my rake, which was still on the ground where I left it the other day, and I started working, raking leaves into my big wheelbarrow and carting them back to the new compost area, which I have fenced in on three sides with chicken wire. It started to rain a gentle drizzle, and even tho it is November, it was not very cold at all, and I was already heated up from labor, so I just kept working, feeling the rain on my skin and the wet fertile earth under my feet.

I heard Mona calling me, and she was in the doorway naked because she sleeps that way, and right then it started to rain pretty hard, and I held my arms up and turned my face into the rain. She called me again, but I laughed and ran, daring her to chase me down, and she did, but she was in no mood to romp in the rain and just wanted me to come inside and get dry, so I did.

I realized a little later that I completely forgot to go to church today, forgot it was Sunday. I was upset with myself because tomorrow we are going to the doctor again, and whether my levels have improved or not, they will probably do the procedure, and I wished I had gone to church on this particular Sunday. And then Mona (the humanist-agnostic) had a wonderful idea. It had stopped raining by this point, and she suggested we meet Jack at the Treehouse Tree and have our own little day-before ceremony. So that's what we did.

Although it had seemed (to me) a bad omen when a particular tree that Jack and I talked about using for a treehouse someday had fallen in a storm, it became a good omen when continued to live even though it was on its side with its rootball entirely out of the ground. And so it has become my Praying Spot lately, but I have always gone there alone, and it was a wonderful thing to do that with Mona and Jack. I don't really want to write about exactly what we said up there, but it was a beautiful thing, and both of them took it completely seriously, which I appreciated.

So -- I am ready for tomorrow.

* * * * *

November 11

Well, crap, here it is 4 in the morning again, and I have been restless and up and down all night. Mona sleeps fairly soundly, but I also try not to wake her with my nocturnal wanderings, and I am skilled at slipping in and out of bed without making much of a disturbance. And when I write at night, I hafta be careful not to bang on the keyboard clackity-clack the way I tend to when trying to type as fast as I'm thinking.

Some concerned person told me I have seemed "agitated and distracted" lately, which I suppose I have been. Distracted? Jeez, compared to what? I tend to be pretty darned distractable in the best of times. I visited my shrink a week or so ago after the Pergonal shots began and I have gotten thru all of this so far without any serious depressions, which is the main thing we were worried about but I suppose I am a bit freekin agitated excuse me very much but heck I'm gonna have fucking surgery in four hours, "the procedure' performed by handsome alien Dr. Ken and his lovely assistants Barbie and Barbie and Barbie. I had about 42 Barbies growing up (actually my mom still has them in storage) and only one Ken doll, which I think is typical in most households. Jeez, imagine what the Census stats look like in the Barbie Universe -- one guy is always living with a dozen or more beautiful women, the supposed dream come true for most straight guys, tho to hear their girlfriends talk they couldn't hardly "service" one Barbie let alone a whole boxful, which I suppose is why Barbie is secretly lesbian because ya know Ken couldn't satisfy her needs (of course in fairness the poor guy got no parts) and besides she is always surrounded by other beautiful ladies jumbled and half naked in a box waiting for me to come play with them again.

I just went down and got a bowl of cereal and brought it back upstairs because I'm sick of sharing my kitchen with Mae and Ed, who never even say anything not just to me but even to each other. The wall between their two rooms isn't even there anymore and they are ten feet away yet they don't even look at each other and I've tried to tell them both that pretty fuckin soon he is going to be DEAD and she's going to be ALONE and they ought to take advantage of this time but they don't listen, they never listen, even yesterday when I blew up and shouted at them, and now I'm just tired of them both and want them to leave my house. They used to live in Jayne's house too, I wish they'd go haunt her for a change.

Hay Jayne is thinking of trying to get pregnant too! Wouldn't that be cool? Heck, she'll probably get it done on the first try, and her kid'll be 14 and I'll still be trying "procedures." Well, there is always donor eggs, you know, if this doesn't work out, but I got ONE good egg in there, or so Dr. Ken says, and who knows if he was just trying to sound hopeful to keep me from freaking out. I have dreamt about that redheaded baby twice now, so who knows, maybe that is the route my Fate will take me. But one step at a time, first we go do this thing today, in a few hours. I am feeling a bit sleepy now, so I'm gonna go slip in beside my warm girl and see if I can snooze.

* * * * * *

November 14: A note to Libby's readers --

This is Mona writing. I would not normally intrude upon Libby's online journal, but this seems to be an appropriate time. Apparently, some group emails have been circulating about what happened to Libby this week, and I don't consider them very accurate -- nor do I appreciate second-hand gossip.

For the record, here is the situation: earlier this week, while we were finishing up at the fertility clinic, Libby began experiencing a series of cascading anxiety attacks that became worse as they progressed, and she became both paranoid and somewhat delusional. She seemed to see things which were not there, and she distrusted everyone -- including me. At first, I thought I could take her home and let her ride it out, as we have done before, but that became impossible, and I had to put her in the hospital.

But as bad as that was, it was just a temporary setback, no doubt brought on by the unusual proportion of hormones in her system and by the stress she has been under in recent times. It did not take more than a day or so for the more extreme symptoms to subside, and although she is still in the hospital, she is almost completely her old self again, making the nurses laugh. She's still a bit fragile, but at the rate she is improving, she will probably be out of the hospital in a couple of days.

But one would surely not understand that based on the two e-mails that found their way back to me earlier today, and who knows how many others there have been. I am not necessarily bothered by the fact that people are talking about this, and I am of course aware that the original information came from true friends who know her in person and were simply informing other friends about what had taken place. But I am quite incensed when people who have never even met her speak with the authority of experts and take it upon themselves to "wonder" (in a mass-mailed e-mail) whether it may be "for the best" if she did not become a mother. I have already directly communicated with the author of that particular message, but I am warning the rest of you also. I have very little tolerance as it is for Internet "communities," and you may be sure I will pull the plug on this website if I ever feel it is doing her more harm than good.

If you have paid any attention at all to what Libby has written about her illness, you should understand that "mental" illnesses are fundamentally physical in origin -- a temporary imbalance in chemicals or hormones. Libby is more prone to these chemical imbalances than most people, but 95 percent of the time, she is just fine. She may not be what you would describe as "normal," but I am glad of that. She is far better than merely being normal. She is sweet and unique, and the most alive person I have ever known. If she needs me to hold her up now and then, it is the least I can do.

And the least you all can do is let her be and quit speculating. She'll be fine, and I'm sure she will soon be writing all about this in humorous detail. Feel free to send her good wishes via e-mail, but she won't be reading them for a little while yet.

-- Mona

November 18:

Hay everyone! Well . . . wasn't THAT dramatic? Thank you all for your kind emails and cards. I can't tell you how much they mean to me and I will write back each of you over the next few days, I promise. I am back home and doing fine, and my life is back to normal . . . or what passes for normal if you are not too particular about it.

Mona said she only intended her note to be a temporary notice until I got back, but I'm gonna keep it because it's all part of the journal thing. Once you put it down, it is part of the story, and that is that. Besides, I kinda like it when she gets all protective of me. This was actually fairly mild -- she can be quite tough verbally and even non-verbally when she has to (as some of you have witnessed).

Anyways, well, I also intend to write some more about what happened and what I was perceiving and all. It is kinda fascinating how the mind works, especially when it isn't working very well. I kept a hand-written journal in the hospital,and pretty much filled up one of those blank books, so I will summarize some of that in my next entry.

Well that is enough for now, I guess. I got me a lotta calls to return and e-mails to write, and that is a good thing to be doing. I get to sit here in my favorite room looking out at the world, or at least the part of the world that is closest to my soul. Here I am, right here on this pretty planet. And I have Time, lots of it. And so do you, even if you die tomorrow and you probably won't. One day is a lot of time to enjoy the gift we have been given. You are right smack in the middle of Your Time on this beautiful planet. Whether you believe in a specific God With A Plan, or no god at all, or if you are wisely humble on that question and just don't know -- no matter which one of those you are you are here Right Now. We don't know if it is a Planned Thing by a Supreme Planner, but it is still a great Gift, even if a randomly granted one by a disinterested force of nature. However you got here, you got here. And we probably have a nice big chunk of Time left too. I plan on enjoying mine.

* * * * *

November 20:

I can't stop thinking about what happened at the fertility clinic. I know, of course, that what happened was triggered by me being off Depakote and pumping a bunch of hormones in my system. That was always a risk, and I am not ashamed of having a bad episode as a result.

But you wanna know the only part of what happened that I AM ashamed of? I'm ashamed that Mona had to write that I distrusted her. Most of the time when I am going nuts I can look in her calm, clear blue eyes and trust that she has everything under control and will take care of whatever it is that has gone wrong.

But sometimes that does not work. On those occasions when I am truly, deeply depressed, well, then I can't even look at her eyes because I am ashamed to have her look at mine but when she takes my face in her hands and forces me to look at her and says, Libby, this will pass . . . well, at those times when I am at my worst in terms of depression it does make a difference because even when I have no hope I can put my trust in her.

And if I am having a panic attack, which is how it started at the doctor's office last week, then her eyes and her assuring voice normally have a similar effect. It doesn't make it go away, but I can let the wave of fear and alarm pound against me and trust in her.

Most people don't really understand panic attacks. They think it is like in the movies when one character freaks out under stress and shouts "we're all gonna die!" and then the hero of the movie slaps him and says "get a grip!" and then the first character says "thanks, I needed that" and then they go fight the bad guys together (and the guy who freaked out generally dies in the end doing something heroic to redeem his earlier cowardice).

But actually, the panic reaction is a good and natural thing and if we didn't have it we probably wouldn't have had a chance to evolve into humans who walk on two feet and have the luxury of no predators (except each other). There is a part of the brain that is entirely in charge of panic, and when an animal is in danger that part of the brain kicks in and the animal runs or hides or fights back or whatever it needs to do to survive. Like when you see a rabbit that has been startled and its instinct is to be perfectly still (because dogs can see movement more easily than they can see objects) and while that rabbit is standing stone still you can see the terror in its eyes. The panic center in that poor little guy's head is sounding the alarm and he is looking around expecting to hear the yelping of hounds any second.

Well sometimes that panic center gets triggered when nothing is wrong. A person is just going about her normal business when suddenly in her head that alarm starts going off and she has this overwhelming sense of fear and alert and danger like that rabbit standing so still in the grass. You can tell the person there is no real danger, and usually she already knows that, but the thing happening in her brain is an actual chemical process that she can't just turn off. It is like someone tells you: "don't sneeze; it's just your allergies; ignore it and it'll go away." Would knowing the cause of your sneezing make you stop sneezing?

But like I said, normally if I am having a panic attack Mona's reassurance helps me get thru it. But on this particular occasion I had a new twist to the experience and that was a strong sense of paranoia. I don't normally have feelings of paranoia and I am not necessarily blaming it on the fertility drugs, though I certainly hope they are to blame cause I sure don't want to feel that way again. It had been building, actually, for some time and looking back in my journals (mostly the private one, but also this one) I am reminded of how I felt. That sense of not belonging here, that something is different, changed. Some physical object looks different than it did before. And people -- people look at you in ordinary ways, but in your mind it is like "why is he looking at me THAT way??" and then you get suspicious and start acting weird yourself and then they DO look at you that way. And when you see other people in conversation or hear them laughing you think, what did they just say about me?

At my very very worst on that day in the clinic I did not trust Mona. And I am so ashamed to admit that. It makes me feel that my love for her is not strong enough, not adequate, that if I was capable of really truly loving her then no matter what was happening I should have been able to look in her face and hear her say "trust me" and that would have been enough for me. Yet this time it wasn't.

But that was partly Ed's fault.

No, don't worry -- I am not still imagining Mae and Ed in the kitchen. But that was all part of this building weirdness. At first, picturing Mae was such fun that I really tried to see her and imagine what exactly she would look like and what she was wearing. But I indulged myself in that a bit too much and sometimes I would forget that I was just making all this up for fun. Kinda like Jack Nicholson in "The Shining" (well, not quite THAT bad).

But anyways when we were at the clinic, all done and getting ready to leave, and I was just barely holding on and telling myself all I had to do was make it home and then i could sleep for 24 hours and maybe it would be okay, well then right about then, as Mona was paying the bill and we were standing in the waiting room with other people sitting there -- and in my mind they were all looking at me -- and just then an old man with white hair and a plaid jacket was leaving and I just saw him from behind as he said something to one of the nurses on his way out the door. And it was Ed! Or so a certain part of my brain insisted. Ed had followed me here! He was "in on it" with Them! To get rid of me! To get me out of his house! (Those thoughts rushed through my head so fast I didn't have time to remind myself that I had basically made Ed up). And the old man said something to that nurse, who looked back in my direction, not right at me, but in my direction. And then he was out the door and the nurse walked right back towards me and as she passed me she made eye contact, and there was meaning in that eye contact, like "oh yes, this is that human specimen we implanted those alien eggs into." And that is when I screamed. Not a huge scream like Jamie Lee Curtis in a bad slasher movie, but it was definitely a scream, and then everyone was truly looking at me, which didn't help. So that is basically when that little thread of self-control that I'd been holding onto broke and I was in full-blown paranoid panic in which I didn't trust anyone . . . including Mona.

And I am ashamed of that.

November 25:

Although this was the first time since the legendary Cornfield Incident that I have been crazy enough to actually be admitted to a psych ward, I have been "outpatient crazy" a couple of times in between.

These were just times when my medication was not quite sufficient, and I would start going over the top with my manic periods. It never really happened with my depression periods. When I am depressed, I am inactive, and as long as I am not suicidal (which I have not been), I can just ride it out. But when I am overly manic, I have enough energy to go to Japan and back without an airplane, and at its most extreme, I can get a bit delusional, as of course I did this time.

But those other times I was definitely not pregnant so they could just up my Depakote dosage for a week or two and then back off of that level gradually. This time, we couldn't do that so all they could give me were some sedatives to help me sleep a few days. That worked in that I am no longer delusional and not Defcon-level manic. But I'm still a bit crazy. Heck, I'm nearly always "a bit" crazy, but without my usual meds, I am slightly crazier than usual.

But that's okay because I'm stable, and it will just take a little more rest for me to get back to "normal-crazy." Knowing that I may be pregnant actually helps a lot because that protective motivation is helping me get better without drugs. Which isn't to say that all mentally ill people can do without meds if they are pregnant, but only that in my particular case, I can't go back to my previous meds at all if I am pregnant. There are some less risky drugs we could try if I really need something, but I have a really good home support system, so I am trying to just get through this period, and we'll see how it goes from there.

Those first couple of days after I got out of the hospital Mona stayed home from work so that I would not be alone, and those were very special days for both of us. We were reminded of how things can change on you overnight, and you could lose things you most cherish, and we knew how lucky we are to have each other (although mostly I am the one who is lucky because she could have anyone she wanted).

There was a conspiracy all week to make sure I did not have to be alone, not that I was in any danger of doing anything harmful to myself, but just because it was considered a good idea, and I did not object. When I was in the hospital, I was afraid to come home because some of what had been happening to me started here at home, and I was afraid it would happen again, but it did not. Mona had to go back to work after a couple of days but then Dana stayed with me that day and it was a cold, overcast day and we spent the whole time cuddled under a blanket watching sappy movies on cable (and I am not allowed to tell you the names of the movies because I promised Dana I would not reveal that incriminating information).

Jaynie did a day also, and so I was babysat all week and did not see any ghosts and did not once think that an alien space pod had been implanted in me (but of course something WAS implanted in me and we do not yet know how that turned out).

I do want to address a question that apparently was raised (by a reader that I do not actually know in person) while I was in the hospital. Am I too mentally ill to take on the responsibility of motherhood?

This is actually something I have given serious thought to. Because it's true that I'm mentally ill, and once in a while I am incapacitated by my mental illness, as I was very recently. What if I have another mental health crisis when I am supposed to be caring for an infant?

Fortunately for me, I have a large and dedicated support system. For starters, I've got Mona and Jack, who are two of the most capable and level-headed people on the planet. Plus I have close friends and neighbors like Jayne, Dana, Andrea and Margot, any one of whom would drop whatever they are doing to come help me if I need it. I've got my mom and my Aunt Anna, and four older sisters. I've also got Molly and lots of other friends as well.

And while money is less important than people, it is still pretty darned important -- and we have that too. We're not filthy rich, but both Mona and Jack both make pretty good incomes, and I still have a trust fund from my father's life insurance that I have never touched. We don't have to worry how we will pay our bills or afford some expensive new thing we may realize that we need after the baby comes.

However, there are a lot of mothers out there who may be less crazy than me, but who don't have the resources and support that I have. Maybe they don't have a spouse or extended family to help them. Or even if they do have someone, maybe they are just barely getting by financially and don't have the luxury to decide to stay home with their babies because they have to go back to their jobs.

So, to anyone out there who was concerned about "someone like me" bringing a child into the world, there are other women out there who are more in need of your concern. Here are three (of several) charities to which Mona and I make annual donations. I hope you will as well:

• Bridge of Hope
• Helping Hands for Single Moms
• Mercy Housing