I'll
never get things done before this baby comes. Things will just not
be done. Right now I'm taking a break from editing the wedding videos
of two different friends, I'm having a cup of peppermint tea, and
I'm sitting here on my squishy birthing ball in lieu of a normal
desk chair. Because as if the stress of impending birth were not
enough, it seems that at 33 weeks Stealthpunch Junior has still
not turned himself head-down as he was supposed to do either before-or-up-to
week 32, and sitting on a birthing ball so my pelvis can wiggle
is a good idea. Also, every day three times a day I lay on the couch
for twenty minutes on my left side with an ice pack on my upper
stomach (where his head is) and a heating pad on my lower belly
(where his feet maybe are) and I say "Turn baby turn baby turn"
and hope that he'll go away from the cold and towards the heat.
Sometimes I play music through headphones and hold the headphones
up to my cooter, and that's supposed to drive him down there too.
But what if he doesn't like my music selection? I mean, fat chance,
but maybe he'd rather stay where he is. So I started going to a
chiropractor who specializes in the Webster technique, which is
supposed to turn babies in 95% of breech cases (I was personally
given an 85% probability rate because my spine is so f-ed up and
my pelvis is all crooked and torqued) and $225 and 5-minutes worth
of procedures later, he's still where he's always been. And of course
our normally outstanding insurance doesn't cover Webster chiropractors.
Maybe because it's a crock? We shall see.
Good
lord I'm a neurotic windbag.
===
This
season's Real World (Denver) is so boring I can barely stand to
watch it. All they do is get drunk, almost sleep with each other,
yell at each other, and then make up. I hate you! I love you! I
hate you! (I have mono!) I love you! That's all there is to it.
Real World/Road Rules Duel, however, is another story, and I love
it tremendously. Also, 24 has started again, and the end of the
fourth episode is crazy, that's all I'll say, and I don't know how
they're going to deal with a whole season dealing with it. Crazy.
Also, American Idol started again last night, and Prison Break starts
next week, and so basically I've just covered everything going on
in my life.
===
I
had an excellent time shooting footage for the needle documentary
at a Red Cross blood drive yesterday, and just as I was interviewing
the second blood technican who said, "Nobody ever passes out
at these things," somebody passed out. They wouldn't let me
film him (I mean come on!) but I did get a bunch of nurses rushing
to attend to him behind a partitioned-off cot area. So I think that'll
be good enough, and will maintain the passer-outer's privacy. There's
lots of footage of needles and pint bags of blood filling up, and
I swear to god I don't know how people do that. Awesome that they
do, but jesus.
Tomorrow
I'm interviewing a guy who just donated his 400th unit of platelets,
which means he gets a needle in each arm and one goes out and into
a machine and then goes back out into his other arm. TWO needles
and all that blood, all at one time. Get my cot ready - I might
pass out watching it.
The
other documentary is very slow-going. In fact it's not going, and
it's super-weighing on my mind and stressing me out. I don't know
how to finish it in a month, especially when I still don't know
where to go with it, which sounds so stupid being that I'm the one
who planned and shot the whole thing, but I'm just fricking stuck.
I need someone to come sit with me and hold my hand and help me
figure it out. I need an editor who's not me.
===
That's
all I got. It's raining here, and cold. And when we walk in the
morning the sprinkler water on the sidewalks has frozen overnight
and so it is treacherous for me and my fat belly, but I persevere.
Not so good for California agriculture, though, and all our pretty
bouganvillas have freeze-dried up and gone crunchy.
Also,
three people have tried to throw me a baby shower, and I said no
to all of them. I know that's weird, but baby showers kind of make
me insane. Is it wrong that I just want to go out for casual celebratory
lunches with people and hang out instead of cooing over boxes of
baby booties? Now I'm an ungrateful neurotic windbag. Oy.
