Procrastination and Pregnancy

Have you ever had so much to do that you sat yourself down and didn't do a damn thing?

I've been there. Well, actually, I'm there right now. You're probably really busy being productive so I'll keep your spot warm while you're off doing stuff. Then you may read this while you're procrastinating some day. And I like it when you read my blog, but I'm all up into honesty these days.

You procrastinating, friend. 

Procrastinating monkeys.

I have so much to say to you! It's the same concept. There is so much to write about. 

The first thing that comes to mind these days:

My pregnancy. By the way, I will run thru the streets naked with my preg, weird body if this becomes a pregnancy blog. 

Which has up and boomed over night. And gotten a lot better. 'Cause I tell you, sister, it was rough there for a while. But who's going to be the first tough-ass woman to complain about it? Not me! No sir! Pregnant women are tough all of a sudden. I know, because I am one. We're acting tough one second, and then freaking out and bawling uncontrollably over a jolly rancher the next. Then we shrug off getting slammed into by a crazy driver. Then someone like me drifts off into a daydream about karma and what God is trying to tell me through this fender bender. 

Oh my. Maybe motherhood will slap the over-thinking out of me.

But I doubt it. Maybe a girl never changes. Maybe this offspring will also ponder and wonder about every little thing and what it means too. Then I'll get mine. "Don't worry about it little William, pecans just fall in the fall. That's what happens. No squirrel is mad at you. Everyone loves you." And you're as sensitive as both of your parents. I'm afraid the little babe's going to come out with sensors all over her body (girl named William? I've thought about it--also thought about a boy named Sue--to honor both Johnny Cash and my grandmother). I mean, we're the most sensitive people I know. Right here in this house. I digress.

Anyway, to explain to you why I haven't written anything since way before harvest, I'll just say: 

I freaked out. I found out I was pregnant, and it was a crazy moment I'll never forget. It blurred my activity for at least a week after I saw the little blue line. Major freak-out session.

Freaking out with a monkey and a banana (explained at end of the post).

Then I was so fatigued out in June and July, opening my laptop became an effort like lifting weights; a lot of time was spent sitting on the floor next to john (a useful, efficient fellow, who takes care of business but is oft misunderstood); and basically 'getting ready' to do this or that, which meant moving very very slowly because I was so freaking tired.

Then somewhere towards the end of that 'personal growth' month I realized it was time to leave the country for another personal growth month. 

I went to Bali. For a month. Like I said. 

This is me with a baby monkey on my hip in Ubud, Bali. Began to give it that banana, when a bigger monkey came and literally attacked me. The little one disappeared, and the big one started crawling me like King Kong on the Empire State Building.

So I threw the banana in the air and freaked out.

Monkeys are so aggressive. It's crazy..

Awesome. I met so many people I just fell in love with. Truly. From all over the world. You know I was freaking out, just loving it. Everyone was like-minded, fun, determined, yogic, into it.

More about that later or this will become longer than my birth plan. Maybe tomorrow?

Let's get this straight, friend: Bali is literally on the other side of the world from Mississippi. I don't know if I realized it until after I rode

14 hours to make a  connecting flight.

I just thought yoga in Bali sounded cool. And might not come up for me again. (Internet situation was very 3rd world, maybe harder than getting online out here on the farm--thanks a heap Hughes Net).

Worth it. And I got a few days after the training to relax and explore and watch geckos and rice fields and negotiate/fight with street vendors and drivers.

After I calmed down, I thought I'd give the big

monkey a chance. 

If you don't get spiffy with a cab driver, it's not a real trip. My opinion. Take it or leave it.

Or you could get spiffy with a monkey.

Or anyone. Because if you're pregnant, you're going to get spiffy. With someone or something. 

Could be a router or even a book, just a simple book with terrible writing could send a pregnant lady soaring in angry fumes of green smoke. 

So which street am I going to have to run through naked with my weird, freaky, pregnant body? 

Well, my street has nothing but rocks and dust. No people, cars, or bikes. Just me and maybe a big green tractor. I never said which street. I didn't. 

And don't Google Earth. I still can't believe how creepy Google has gotten.

So it's okay to freak out. Give yourself a freak-out session. Go ahead and do it. You'll feel better. But please calm your ass down afterward. Moving forward. Blogging back on.