Admit it, your heart skipped a beat.

Would you like to know how many spam comments you get when you post something with “artificial insemination” in the title? Approximately 400. None of it porn spam, though, as far as I could tell. I don’t know. I didn’t follow any links. It’s been years since I’ve gotten [obvious] porn spam. That’s a blessing. Having to mark 400 spam comments was a bit tedious, though.

Well, obviously May was not the month of blog revival. I’m not saying June will be either. What happened to Jason after he jumped out of the lake? Did he get killed, or was it all a dream? Obviously, he came back for parts two through fifteen, but there were some long stretches in between. That probably makes it the perfect movie metaphor for my web site.

What happened in May? Well, I turned 42. My kids gave me some books and some socks. My mother-in-law gave me a stuffed sheep. Not sure what that was about, but it sure is cute. My husband and I celebrated our sixteenth wedding anniversary. We went out to dinner, and then a week later we went to Leavenworth, Washington, for about three days. We just got back last night. My husband just noticed that I am blogging again and asked if I was blogging the dirty details of our trip. I think that’s how he said it. “Dirty details.” Don’t worry, gentle readers. I wouldn’t even know how to do such a thing.

Leavenworth used to be a logging town, but the logging industry there went kaput and the town was about to go kaput until a couple of residents decided they would revive it by turning it into a little Bavarian village and making tourism its sustaining industry. That is our history lesson of the day. You know, it is not really a terribly Bavarian place, except in look. There are some places to buy pretzels and bratwurst–there’s a pizza joint that sells pizza and bratwurst (“Pizza und Brats–das ist gut, ja?”–no, for real)–but mostly it is just a town with a lot of shops selling tchotchkes and not many of them Bavarian tchotchkes. That said, there were some cats dressed up in liederhosen, playing the accordion and singing “The Chicken Dance,” so…actually, I don’t know what that means. We stayed at a very nice bed and breakfast, and it was very quiet and there were no children, so we were happy. No offense to the children.

Someone referred to it as our “second honeymoon,” but I don’t think that’s a very good description. Here’s where, if I were still in my hey-I’m-totally-anonymous-and-nobody’s-reading-this-anyway phase (which I haven’t been in since maybe 2005), I would give you a very candid assessment of my first year of marriage. (No, not the “details.” Just an assessment.) But those days are long past. Suffice it to say that we had a good trip and I did not come back wanting to divorce him.

Enough warmth.

Back to May, before the trip to Leavenworth, my clogging group performed at the Rose Festival City Fair. This performance went much better than our last public performance, which, you may recall, was just a disaster. This was definitely not a disaster. I was not embarrassed by any of it. I was, however, a bit concerned when I got halfway into my first number and realized that I was totally out of breath. Well, I guess I was obviously not TOTALLY out of breath, or I would have dropped dead, wouldn’t I have? Which I didn’t, because here I am to tell you. But I was definitely 98.9% out of breath. I spent about two and a half minutes on stage and came back to the dressing tent dry-heaving like I’d just finished a marathon. It was like that after every number I was in. I messed up some steps, not because I forgot them but because I was too exhausted to lift my feet properly. Where has all of my energy gone? I mean, I’m a reasonably lethargic person by nature, but usually I can dance for a couple minutes at a time.

I saw the SuperGyno that week. I do not have high hopes for that relationship, or rather, that venture. I’m sure the relationship will be perfectly cordial, but I don’t think she’ll be able to help me. She told me I was anemic, so I’ve been loading up on the iron. Speaking of which, I did not realize iron supplements would be so difficult to find. They don’t even sell them at Trader Joe’s. Doesn’t that seem odd? Probably because they have plenty of blackstrap molasses in stock, and if you’re eating your blackstrap molasses, what other source of iron do you need? QED. Well, I eventually found a bottle–literally, a bottle, there was only one on the shelf, the very bottom shelf, I almost missed it–at Target, and I’ve been popping those with the Vitamin C and eating steak when I can. I don’t feel any different, but I haven’t tried to clog since then.

Theoretically, I have clogging tomorrow, but we’re rehearsing for the county fair and tomorrow they’re working on a dance I’m not performing, so I’m not sure I should even go. I mean, should I go just for the warm-up? That seems dumb. I should stay at home and work on my own crap, which needs plenty enough work, but then I’m all by myself and there’s no one to make sure that I actually do it, even if I’m dry-heaving. Decisions, decisions.

The SuperGyno had me get some more blood drawn to test my Progesterone level. I got the test results but not the interpretation thereof. For that I have to go back to the SuperGyno on Tuesday. But as I was saying, I got the test results and my number was 11. “Standard range” is between 2 and 291, so that’s helpful. I like that they send me the test results, though. It’s the thought that counts.

About ten days ago the sleep clinic people called me to set up a sleep study. I haven’t called them back yet because when I got the message, it was Friday afternoon. Then it was Housekeeper Week, and I can’t think about doing anything non-mandatory Monday or Tuesday of Housekeeper Week because it’s too much stress. I’m talking about non-mandatory tasks, stuff I don’t want to do–not non-mandatory goofing around and wasting time, obviously, because that’s my bread and butter, so to speak. I say “so to speak,” but I don’t really know what I mean by that. It just sounded good at the time.

Soon the children will be out of school, and then I will be feeling like life sucks all the time. It’s not good to approach your summer vacation this way. I guess it’s not really my summer vacation, though, is it? Nevertheless, it’s not good to approach anyone’s summer vacation this way. I don’t like this business of “all I have to do is get through the next three months”–that’s how I ended up 42 and nothing to show for my life. Except for a good marriage and a beautiful family, blah blah. I’m just saying. I need to work on enjoying life in the present. I have never done that. Except when I’m actually having fun. But, you know, there’s some Zen thing about being present in the moment even when it’s not a good moment, blah blah…you know, I think that’s a load of crap, actually. What I really have to work on is not anticipating every day as a series of bad moments.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ah, you probably thought I was serious for a minute there. (Actually, I thought I might have been, for a minute, but I remembered who I was. Maybe what I need to work on is being someone else!)