Dreaming and Waking

Some purchases feel like they should be marked by confetti and trumpet flourishes. Momentous occasions, marking major life changes, happening in front of blissfully unaware store clerks.

Do you remember the first time you bought "feminine hygiene" products?

My Mom kept my sister and I's bathroom stocked through high school, so I was in first year university the first time I needed to buy my own pads. As a budding feminist and environmentalist, I was offended and annoyed that the clerk bagged my pads into a brown paper bag before adding them to the re-usable bag that held all my other purchases. Not offended enough to say anything, of course, but annoyed enough to complain about it later in my Women's Studies class.

Do you remember the first time you bought condoms?

Russ offered to go to the pharmacy, but I insisted that I would buy them. A rite of passage, perhaps, or a test of my ability to do this "adult" thing. It was such a big deal to me - I felt shaky and jumpy - but to the clerk, I was just another student in an on-campus pharmacy full of students getting ready for the weekend. I lost my virginity a couple of days later.

Do you remember the first time you bought a pregnancy test?

I doubt there's ever been anyone who has bought a pregnancy test for themselves or their partner in a neutral emotional state. Considering my emotional turmoil, I was a little surprised that a pregnancy test was just scanned through along with my bread and cheese. Given my state of mind, I expected the transaction to be remarkable, maybe even traumatic.

Standing in this virtual room with a hundred-odd friends, acquaintances, and almost strangers, I have this to say: I am not pregnant.

More than two weeks of nausea, bloating, breakouts, smell sensitivity, breast tenderness, mood swings... despite being a consistent Pill user, I really thought I was in trouble. Even after my period started, I took a pregnancy test this morning, just in case.

One beautiful line. Relief.

I am not pregnant.

"Congratulations" isn't quite right, is it? After all, non-pregnancy isn't really an achievement. Never mind; I will celebrate my non-pregnant status tonight by spending the evening as I spend many Wednesday evenings - crafting - but accompanied by a large glass of wine.

It's been a stressful couple of weeks. Maybe two large glasses of wine.

My watch reads 2:26. It has read 2:26 for about 5 days now. The battery is mostly dead. The power left in it makes the second hand twitch back and forth so slightly you can almost think you imagined the movement.

I wear a watch everyday, all day, even on the weekends. I have done so since junior high school. I feel strange without it on my wrist. So even though it's dead, I wear it.

Throughout the day, I glance at my dead watch repeatedly. Sometimes I stare at it incomprehensively for several seconds before I remember that it isn't giving me any useful information.

2:26 is a funny time to wear on your wrist all day.

At 2:26 in the afternoon on a weekday, I am usually in a really good place. The rhythm of the day is well established. Any crisis from the previous evening's deliveries has been resolved. It is too early to have any crisis for that night's deliveries, as they haven’t started yet. I'm just doing my thing.

At 2:26 in the afternoon on a weekend, life is usually pretty good. It is early enough in the day that no pressure from the impending end of the day has set in. I am laid back, relaxed.

At 2:26 in the morning, life may be really great, as in a great party, but it is more often a very hard time. If I am up at 2:26 in the morning, and I am not partying, I am probably worrying, dwelling, panicking, crying…

And every time I find myself staring at my dead watch, I think about these things. I find myself asking: right now, am I having a 2:26 in the afternoon, or a 2:26 in the morning?

This time change thing always throws me off a little, as I am pretty attached to time as measured by my ever-present wristwatch. Suddenly leaping forward or dropping back an hour always confuses me.