It’s not what you think. I will not be talking about sex in this post. Sorry, nah—not sorry.
I have never been this good of an adult, not in the history of my life.
I workout 4x a week. I don’t eat carbs past 6pm. There are groceries in my fridge, weekly. I am running as fiscally lean as I can manage (minus festival tickets, minus sneaker money). I just paid property taxes. I have seen my optometrist, gynecologist, dentist and doctor all in the past month. Whatever blood work, STD testing, pap smear or teeth cleaning that is required of me has been accomplished for the entire year. I just switched out 6 silver fillings at the dentist, because.
I’m operating like a machine. A rigid as fuck machine.
I’ll be 100% honest, as a result I am boring and antisocial because of my efficiency. However, I’m not going to apologize for putting myself first, cause—priorities. After all these years I finally realized I have the luxury of focusing on nothing else except my own well-being.
I have a random to-do list on my Google drive. The only items left are:
- Purchase stock options at work
- Sell engagement ring
- Inquire about fertility testing next doc. appt
All the minor things on the list were easy to check off, 2 of these fuckers are way too real for me.
The idea of selling my engagement ring makes me feel some type of way. I haven’t seen it in years, I gave it to my mother for safe keeping when I moved to NY and I haven’t seen it since. I guess I was always secure with the idea that it was my possession despite where it was actually kept. I finally have to sell it because the money it provides is my official dog fund. The plan is to get a dog in July when my calendar becomes calm again. My imaginary-not-even-born-yet dog already has a name and an account ready on IG. I need to sell that ring. No, I’m not telling you the name or the IG account until he or she is real.
I’ll probably sell the ring on a Sunday, get brunch and do shots. I had pickle back shots when I received my final dissolution of marriage. I had pickle back shots when I left NY. I will have pickle back shots when I sell my engagement ring (which BTW was offered to me roughly a decade ago, damn).
The last item is for peace of mind, because although I have been blessed with a face that still looks 26—my eggs are going to be 34. I am running against a clock and as much as I fear anything even remotely close to what could be bad news I’d rather deal with facts than the fear.
I told myself I would wait until 37 until I give up on actual love with a partner, if no one steps up to the plate I will choose sperm out of a book. I will take volunteers (as long as they are legit candidates). I have volunteers… I don’t know how serious they are tho. However I’m completely fucking serious about my plan. I need to be a mom, I need to have my own family—even if I have to do it completely by myself.
Everyone I’ve shared this with tells me I don’t need to worry, “it’ll happen” they say. We’ll see, this is just my backup plan. I still have 3+ years of life to live, that is a decent amount of time.
These are my adult thoughts…
WHY SO SERIOUS?!?!?!?!
I’ll try to write about something more light-hearted next time, like sex.