Down to a crawl

I called a clinic today. I'd sought by email a few referrals, got none, so I climbed the long ladder to the high dive alone.

And plunged.

I was quickly told that most places have a cut off of 42, but they have 45, actually until 46 arrives, so actually only about 13 months ago for me or about seven months before Bea and I met.

When I asked if they would just test, she said they might do a clomid challenge, but it didn't matter, because they would not use the information. She then referred me to their donor program.

At this point, I don't really can't embrace the thought of another child, but I absolutely and fully feel the pain Bea has in wanting another. I have been there. Bea's walls are induced, though; she is not infertile in the least. She has been pregnant a number of times with losses, but she has gotten pregnant both times the first time she tried with insemination. She mostly just doesn't want to be pregnant again, however if she used the donor vials she has, her son would have a full sibling.

I especially do not want her to decide to have a child with someone else and to have a visitation arrangement. That child would not feel like it would be mine. Then again, I honestly do not know if I could birth via donor egg and donor sperm and feel like it'd be mine. I don't want to birth a little stranger.

Of course, I did grow to love P's daughter, L, but I never considered her mine. With Bea's 4yo son, I know I could love and care for him, but he'd never be mine.

Seems, though, that something ripping your cooch to shreds should feel like it's yours.

I know people do donor stuff every day. I know some people are desperate enough for children to put aside their own genetics. I don't see that as me. J is a cousin of Thomas Jefferson and Jimmy Carter. I would not have any historical links or tales for a child born of a donor. For a genealogical geek like me, that plays large.

Last night, I did thumb through the donors online. They seemed like lovely women. Of course, I was quite critical of the writing samples. I'm such an intellectual geeky snob. Only one did art, but other things precluded her. I liked one, cute kid, but then she said he had a big nose.

I don't like shopping this way! It's ridiculous!

Bea is texting me about someplace else she found online. Pandora, I tell ya.

Baby steps

I volunteered one thing the other night. I would get myself tested. Mentally, I will only go that far.

I will not deconstruct my wall and I will not get my hopes up.

In fact, I will hope that my eggs are past expiration. Perhaps that's an additional measure of closure that I can handle appropriately.

So now I am seeking a fertility clinic and dr in the DC area. If you have experience in such, please drop me a line or refer my question on. I am not up on the current batch of bloggers who might have knowledge.

Pshew.

Never in a million years thought I would put up a post like this after being left at the IVF alter by both a husband (1999) and a fiance (2005). Or that it would be a lesbian wanting it with me.

Old topic reborn

It's been almost a year since I brought up the topic of babies.

Bea wishes very much that we'd met several years ago. I could have been on the baby bandwagon.

In the past year, I have progressed past bandwagon to bandwhat? Of course, I don't coo over babies, but I largely don't covet them anymore, either.

Enter the multi-millionaire who can afford whatever she wants. She has a son through donor insemination and he's almost five. She wants another. She would consider a surrogate. She might consider her eggs. She just does not want to be pregnant again. She has a big heart and could love any child, to include an adoptive one.

However, if she had her way, she'd see me pregnant. If I were to be pregnant, I would have to use my eggs. My 47 year old eggs. Or she'd consider a surrogate. But I would want to breastfeed, which is best accomplished after a pregnancy.

She said if she got a surrogate, she'd want a live in surrogate who could be monitored.

She has a number of vials of the same donor semen. Still, she asked if I'd consider an African-American donor and I said I'd want another red head (as she carries on about what a pretty baby I made, who looks just like me), so she said her son's donor has red-headed children, too; this donor has had incredible success. If we were to do this, I'd prefer her son and the new baby to be half siblings together.

If I said yes. she would immediately begin the process.

How could I possibly let my guard down and hope again? It's too crazy. That wall was hard earned and built with blood, sweat, and tears.

Honest evaluation

I don't drink very often anymore, just a beer with dinner out, because another thing I don't trust is my ability to judge properly about drinking. I hold my shit too well and I think last night qualifies as that. I perceive that I'm in more control than I am.

I came here to a safe place. I didn't do anything to get in trouble, but it bugs me that I pined over someone long gone. So I am embarrassed at the depth of emotion that leaked out.

I had kept my near hatred of him in place until he started checking my art blog. The first time in late June was an aberration to me. He only stayed 90 seconds, didn't even make it to the main page, but did exit via the profile, a frustrating page to me b/c it doesn't really serve a purpose. He arrived googling my full name, so it was pretty specific.

The second time was mid July and he didn't look much further than the first.

The third time was a few days after my (and his daughter's) birthday. He stayed six minutes and looked all over the place for the first time.

I know he's proud of me; he always appreciated my art and was very supportive, something I'm not genuinely getting now.

I think his drinking is in control b/c he's lost a significant amount of weight. He's down to what he weighed when we met.

He says in a note on fb in one of those list memes going around that his favorite vacation was Co-sta Rica. I don't see any evidence of them going, so I can only assume that was with me just a few months before I started this blog.

Of course, I don't know if he's checked my fb, but I did mention him with distain in a similar meme last fall. If he went back though my notes, he'd see that. I suspect he hasn't, though, b/c my art blog publishes there, too, and there'd be no reason to google my name to arrive at the art blog b/c the blog address is on every post. Then again, maybe that's why he stayed on the blog such a short time? I know he can see my fb, b/c I finally decided to join the local network, regardless of him, as a "see what you're missing" moment. I have it severely limited as to what a network person can access, but fb frustratingly doesn't include enough options to be blocked, like notes and pictures.

I was fine without him. Had checked his fb when I began last October and he didn't have one. I then checked in March and was surprised to see it, begun in January. I don't think I checked it again until he began looking at my art blog in June. You might remember I've been through this blog visit thing before with a (minor) ex checking the blog and it bugging me. After enough time elapsed, I sent it all to her in an email and there were no more visits.

Gosh, I desperately don't want to contact him, but I don't like where his visits put me.

I return to my outlet

I drank a bottle of wine tonight. Three Pinos or something from Trader Joe's.

It makes me honest.

I fucking still love Paul beyond any love I've ever had before, yet I never told him he was the love of my life like he told me constantly. It's been three years.

I check him often on Facebook, as in tonight.

He seems to be happily married, but....

he's checked my art blog three times in the last month or so from his office, so it is easily identifiable. He even downloaded a picture of my son playing his violin.

Thank goodness for my stat thingie.

I love him, regardless of what he's done.

I think he is still stuck on me. It is not a casual checking in.

His wife is ugly as dirt. I feel sorry for her. I can check her Facebook, too.

I feel sorry for Bea, as she will never measure up. I love her, but not with this passion and I fear her finding this blog.

I love Bea in an odd way. I do not trust her. She snoops through my stuff and my computer. I do not think she will ever really come through for me, the struggling artist and single mom. She's paid her ex over $600,000 in the last six weeks. Just because. She refuses to help me and I am going in the hole, near bankruptcy b/c I decided to pursue the life of an artist and all the costs that brings. It feels absurd to be partners with a multimillionaire when you're about to seek credit counseling. She constantly insists she cares, yet she always services her exes time and again before me.

She is too fucking stupid to appreciate anything intellectual. She is ghetto. Her family is ghetto. They use her and she services them at all hours. Her sister has AIDS and fucks whatever moves, yet Bea does not report her.

Contrasting this, Paul is the quickest brain I ever met, next to his brilliant daughter.

Just like it makes me cry that Memph is gone and can't watch Top Chef with me, I cry because I can no longer be with or trust Paul. But I long to.

So this is my drunken rant that isn't too drunk b/c I could easily drink another bottle.

This is me.

Take that!

I was recently shocked to see the 10 year anniversary advertisements for The Tigger Movie. It's tough to think nostalgically in a commercial sense for the very first movie you took your son to see. 10 years? I think it was yesterday! And he sat through it beautifully, although he was less than two.

(BTW, my first movie was Bambi and I distinctly remember Thumper bounding on screen and Flower peering up through the colorful meadow.)

In honor of J's 10th cinematic viewing anniversary, I present Sammy and a McDonald's Pooh from that era. Sorry, but sweet Pooh doesn't stand a chance against these moves.

The Eye Vacuum

The Rabbit Kick

The Chenille Drag

The Butt Bite

The Sleeping Head Rest

Out with the old

Although Bea did the preparations for us early in the week, J and I finally buried Sad.ie and Memph yesterday afternoon.

Sad.ie had been frozen for almost 2.5 years in a taxidermy snafu. I'd frozen Memphie as soon as I found him last weekend. There was room for little else in my freezer.

Once we got them outside, J wanted to open up the boxes. Sad.ie was as beautiful as the day she died. I remember her looking so horrible then, but she was so luxurious and just as I always wanted to remember, but had not been able. Although I was scared that opening the box would bring her too close, it actually made me feel better.

I wish I had warned J about opening up Memph's box. He was in full rigor when I found him, so it was a rather large box. Rigor is most pronounced in the smaller muscles, so the face is grossly affected. Memph looked like he'd been tortured by demons, but thank goodness J missed most of it by being on the opposite side. I explained about rigor mortis and J didn't have nightmares as far as I know.

Bea's hole in the backyard was perfect and the boxes fit side by side. J and I remarked about what great cats they both were and then we covered them with dirt.

By 11pm, I was crawling out of my skin antsy. I called Bea to tell her that it is taking everything I have to not dig up Sad.ie. She was just fine in my freezer and there was no reason to get rid of her. All day, I'd thought about her new environment, her thawing, her getting invaded, and her box caving in. It is gruesome and morbid.

I know I'm odd. I want to grave rob my own cat. I was fully expecting more cat pee between my pillows.

In with the new

As I said, I knew Memphie was on his way out since the end of June.

I also knew of kittens born on June 5. I did not want one. I was really looking forward to only three cats using the litter boxes. I would own so many cats if it weren't for the litter box.

Three hours from me, this litter of kittens was born to Bea's ex's household from a stray they'd only adopted a few month earlier. To call these people white trash would be a compliment. They are ignorant and malicious. Within four weeks, five of the six kittens were dead. Bea crawled under the house after a deluge to save the last one, the day after the remaining three had been put out by the owners, and I use that term loosely.

The mother cat had already largely abandoned the kittens, as she was an outdoor cat without free access indoors. The kittens had lived inside and were exposed to people, to include children too young to understand handling them.

Bea bottle fed the last kitten for almost a week. Can you believe that you can buy kitten feeding supplies and dehydrated cat's milk at Wal-Mart?

She then transitioned the kitten to food fit for a kitten. She was a good mom, however she and her roommate continued to "play" with the kitten quite roughly, appropriately calling it an ankle biter. Apparently it was used to being played with that way, so Bea kept it up.

I guess you know where all this is going. She brought the cat to me 10 days ago, so for a few days I had five cats. Who knows? Maybe the little monster is what put Memph over the edge.

When I realized that the cat would be coming to me a few weeks ago, I named him/her/it Sammy/Sammie, as it was a name that could go either way, b/c they had no clue of the sex. Turns out, it is a Sammy. He is a beautiful gray that looks different shades from different angles, so very much like Sad.ie, except he completely lacks the composure she had as a kitten.

I said I would take him if Bea pays for the spay and shots. She agreed and said she'd do a one year plan at Banfield, too - not that I'm crazy about Banfield, but it would cover most everything Sammy would need without me worrying.

In addition to minimizing any testosterone in his aggressive system, I wanted Sammy spayed young so as to ensure it is done, as Bea too often fails to come through on what she says. We went to the vet that Sad.ie went to, b/c the (errant) receptionist said they'd spay early, whereas Banfield was trying to get me an appt for late October. During the appt when I told the vet I wanted him spayed early, she declined, then I protested with reason, then they said they'd consider it, as they do spay early with rescues they do. I figured out they fix the unattached kittens early, not the ones who are already pets, in case something happens.

Anyway, during the exam, the vet made the mistake of putting her finger too close to Sammy's face and he lit in, drew blood, shook his head, and growled. She called him "Devil Child" and labeled him hyperactive.

That's Sammy, but I am working hard on the kitten biting and other behaviors. He's people socialized, but was taunted, and he wasn't cat socialized enough to know when enough is enough. It's like he's feral, but he's not. He wants to be around so he can bite and scratch, play that could be cute as a kitten, but cannot be written off as an adult.

I have never purchased so many cat toys. Our motto around here is, "Skin is not a toy." We substitute, we redirect, we scruff like a mother cat would, we isolate, we walk away. We are the behaviorists. And it is working somewhat. He still nips, but he doesn't bite unless he gets angry, at which time he goes zero to 60 on the Anger Meter, another typical behavior for this sort of kitten. The other three cats were very fearful, but now they just whap him if he gets out of line. They have begun to play chase me/chase you, so that's a great sign. We all know our jobs in dealing with him.

Although the vet says that some cats stay overly frisky (aka mean), particularly the ones bottle fed and not having the mother cat's influence, I do think Sammy is being retrained and will perhaps grow out of the rest. For now, all I can say is thank goodness they trimmed his nails so well!

His blue eyes have turned greenish in the last week; he's a very handsome chap.

Ah, don't let him fool you. Yesterday, he napped for one hour in the afternoon and one in the evening. Bea actually crated him like a dog and told him when to take naps. I may use that approach. I do love that he's chosen my fuzzy robe as his favorite bed.
Of course, J is absolutely smitten...and bears the scratches to prove it.


Sammy is nine weeks old today.

RIP Memph

Memphie died over the weekend. He was the best cat, so gentle and affectionate.

He had a tumor in his abdomen which I first felt about a month ago. It was confirmed by the vet, who wanted to put him to sleep on the spot. I declined, as Memph as too much life in him. Up until the end, he jumped on top of the high kitchen cabinets. He was eating like the dickens, although his hips had carved out, while the tumor bulged like a pregnancy.

We went away Friday through Sunday and I knew I'd be putting him down this week. However, I returned on my birthday to find him dead on the floor.

He was such a sweet cat, he allowed me not have to take him in. Doing that with Sad.ie ranks among the hardest thing I've had to do as an adult.

J isn't home again yet from his dad's. At present, I have two dead cats in my freezer. This happening gives me the opportunity to no longer "wait" on ex to pay for Sad.ie's taxidermy, as it has been almost 2.5 years. They'll be buried together, which is fitting, as they were both incredible cats and I got him only 10 days after she died.

I shed my tears already in this process. Honestly, I am glad I had so long to say goodbye. He was a sweetheart, my secret admirer.

I venture back here

I didn't drop off the face of the planet!

...for any friends still reading...

I have been painting a good bit, but I haven't been blogging that, either.

I really hate blogs to exist mostly for times of stress and the good times are skipped and I desperately do not want this long-term investment I have here to become that.

My relationship with Bea is troubled, but she is resolute about making it work. I am on the fence. About the many things she promises, I feel like they're carrots on strings, as she has not come through on any of it. However, I can honestly say that she has had the worst upbringing that I have ever heard of and she desperately wants to put that behind her, but I think I am bringing her realizations of the baggage she has and now wants to work on. I'm a fer piece from high class, but she is from the ghetto. Although we have broken up twice, we are considering couples therapy, her suggestion. She is a sweet person with a big heart, but she needs to trust me and to come through on what she says.

My son is doing very well. He's in a nature camp with a friend this week. He finished his second year of violin, but he's less and less willing. Against his wishes, I signed him up for that camp this summer, too, although he will miss a lot of that due to his greatest new love, Boy Scouts and Summer Camp. It could be worse. He's still the quiet, demure guy, but he shows such tenacity, resolve, and composure as a new Scout that I get compliments on him all the time. Alas, if only he were so cooperative with me!

Bea did surprise us by buying him a pre-paid phone last week and he's really enjoying that. I loved it today, b/c my new phone died last night and I got a replacement today, but the phone number transfer didn't work from the SIM card and I was left in the cold today. It'd be so much easier if I could just remember phone numbers!

Painting is going well. Although me showing in public was new in January, I have loved being able to do it. I routinely have three pieces in the gallery, plus now have a coffee shop, library (I have a solo wall next month!), senior center, and government center for exhibits. Selling isn't the thing; creating and displaying are. It lights a fire on me to need to produce. Just next week, I will be hanging 10 pieces in two locations. So exciting. I am enamoured with pure landscapes and painting en plein air. It charges me.

I wish Bea would understand and respect it more, as there are lots of weekend conflicts with opportunities to paint and go to workshops.

Now if only I could come through on another block. So sorry, Val. I have not forgotten you.

If you read the art blog, or the lack thereof lately, don't consider it dead, either. I've been painting instead of photographing paintings or writing. I'll have an inspired day soon and post a number in one day.

Next month, I fly to a family reunion with my mother's mother's family. It's the first time to have such a gathering outside a misc wedding or funeral. My son will be at Scout Camp, but I guess I'll do. Of course, they specifically request the kids. There's a measure of geneaolgy which a 2nd cousin is putting together, so I am looking forward to that angle: compiling about the living!

Three cats are doing well, but Memphie has lost a lot of weight recently and I am having flashbacks to Sa.die two years ago. He's had a check up and bloodwork done, but it is inconclusive as far as I know - just a low amylase, tiny high WBC, and high specific gravity. Hopefully, I talk to the vet again tomorrow about the thyroid. I go to Banfield, a chain, b/c they offer a pay-by-the month program and all office visits/vaccines are included. So far, I've only paid extra for the thyroid test, but I pay so much with time, miscommunication, absolute lack of communication, and plain ol' poor service or caring that I am considering a switch. They didn't notice that they kept a cat who has recently lost two whole pounds in a cage w/o food or water for 10.5h. I just don't see the compassion, but I don't know if all the locations are so over taxed.

I still talk to Lyd often. She started a physician-guided shake diet and has lost about 25 pounds. I am so proud of her for doing it. Her mother has spent all her lottery winnings for the year already, so they're back to normal, but do have a nice sun porch to show for it. Lyd is still hung up on me, but tries with all her might not to go there. Although she'd say she's weak, I think she is one of the strongest people I know. I should tell her.

I tried to get on Bloglines today to catch up a bit, but it wouldn't let me it. Feel free to lead me to any especially telling blog entries you've read or written in the last few months.

Now I'm telling myself, "Don't be a stranger!"

Still looking: the review

I saw three houses today.

I described the first one in the entry below. It has a very large foyer/dining room/living room/curved staircase entry. It is very grand, but not a very practical use of space. The kitchen is impressive and worthy of the house. I wish it had a deck. Everything upstairs is good, to include the incredible master closets. The basement seems to have had a small flood, probably due to the entry well door having a bunch of leaves blocking the drain. There's a slight mildewy odor, but I don't think it is terminal. Much of the basement is dark, but that suits it being a media room very well. Under the whole front half of the house is a huge unfinished storage area. There was a lot of junk/clothes left around, so it was messy and not pristine, but that doesn't really matter.

The second house was much smaller, had a dining room, but no living room. It had two masters, but neither had more than a single small walk in closet. The basement was finished and well lit with a bedroom, but they only left about the size of a walk in closet unfinished for storage. It also almost backed to a busier road.

The third house was not in the neighborhood I wanted, but the realtor, who was very cool, wanted to see it for herself. It was grand and beautiful and on a very large lot backing to woods. The kitchen was spacious, but not huge or particularly open. It has a library, which would probably be the studio, and a large solarium, in addition to the family room.

It had five bedrooms upstairs and the master had double doors with two steps leading to them. There were two closets, but they were regular walk in size vs. the three large, successive closets in the first one. The master and sitting rooms were smaller, too, but still substantial. One bedroom smelled of smoke, as if it were the smoking room, but size-wise it would have to be for one of the boys, although it would have to use the nearby hall bath. One bedroom was a small throw away one, guess that would be the nursery if it weren't so far from the master. Another had its own bath and would have been great for one boy.

Downstairs painted the picture of why it is in foreclosure. It reeked of mold with a longstanding water problem; the carpeting was stained, but there didn't appear to be a water line on the wall. It is unfortunate. It had a great rec area and bar, a bedroom, and a study, which had a large 20x20 unfinished area off if it. There were also two other unfinished areas, each about 14x14.

This home was incredible and Bea would probably pay the preforeclosed price. Shoot, the thing was also on a cul de sac. Guess it was too perfect. Now the realtor is checking on the selling status of the first one and Bea is ready to do a home inspection on the first and last ones. It wouldn't cost much to figure out their problems.

Houses for sale are very difficult to come by in these parts.

Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate you hanging around. I seem to be only able to update one blog at a time; haven't done my art one in a month, although I do have some paintings and such to show.

Tomorrow is career day at school. I am the Resident Artist. Then I drive several hours to spend the weekend with Bea, then I drive back to pick up J on Sunday and drive a couple hours the other way to get a painting I left for a show three states away. Glad they're small states. So I won't be back home until Monday. Guess I need to get packing.

Life can move quickly

Yup. We're looking at a house not far from here and I'm being specific b/c of the schools - I've been through too many boundary meetings the past few years to err on this one. This home is huge, over 5K sq ft. I never in my dreams thought I could live in a house like that. With the market coming down, it's about 35% less than what it appraised at a few years ago.

What a bargain!

This one doesn't have as good of light as I'd want in the basement (hence, it's great as a Media Room, etc), so I'd claim the Library as my studio.

The Master Bedroom takes up half the upstairs.

I'm not completely crazy about the brick color (too light), but it has everything else and more.

Pinch me!

The kitchen is so large that it has room for five tall chairs and a table for six.

I would move out of my place, but retain it as a rental. It would need new carpet and such; Bea is fine with footing the bill.

Life is good.

I have plans for a bunch of Ethan Allen. My dining room furniture is from there and I love the lines.

I have never in my life had more than one couch. For the last seven years, I've only had a tattered love seat. This house has seven rooms that would take couches.

Jeez, where will I get the time to decorate? I will need to paint big stuff to fill the walls. And I want to buy paintings of my artist friends to fill the house with people I know.

It doesn't have a deck and I have plans for a wrap around one with a hot top and a fire pit. Bea is cool with it. She likes my ideas for configuring the bedrooms with the boys. The only thing I do not have planned is a nursery. That still has to stew a bit in my head. Any additional offspring would go in the 2nd largest bedroom (abnormally large, so could not let it go to one of the boys and not the other) which I had slotted as a kiddie game room.

Is this my life?

Children, money, and moving forward

Bea hasn't heard from the therapist again. Or the therapist's friend. If something is stirred up again, I'll write the letter. I think it is over now.

We had an incredible weekend together. I drove a few hours to see her. We talked a lot and I feel confident in who she is. I am trying to make her feel more confident in who she is as well. I think she understands me and how cautious I am. We have a great understanding of one another. She's overwelmed that she felt this way over me so soon, as it isn't her usual modus. I think it's to my credit that I am working slowly. In fact, I told her that I like her despite her the money.

Bea has a 4yo son who lives with her half the year, plus she visits often and talks to him daily. They even have a camera system and she can see him all the time.

Bea's ex from the time, Mimi, homeschools the boy and he's a sponge for it even this young. (My son is the opposite, so it's interesting to hear about.) They inseminated Bea and she was at first pregnant with twins, lost them, and got pregnant the next try with Mike. She was fine being pregnant and had a waterbirth because of Mimi's insistence about natural childbirth. Bea went along, but it made her never want to do it again. Ever.

She really wants more children and to have a normal family thing, is interested in adpotion. However, she is willing to pay for me to have IVF and to help, as she'd gone through similar when they tried to get Mimi pregnant. She suggested that I do it. She's wanting to try it with my own eggs, because it is my preference, at least at the outset.

The concept is blowing my mind. As I turned 45, I was largely able to turn off the baby desires. I felt it was impossible and I am actually proud that I could switch gears. I have been able to cringe much less with a baby in proximity; although not perfect, I considered myself almost emotionally healed from IF.

Now she's interested in me trying this. We would have equal legal rights, just as she gave her partner with Mike.

She has several vials left of the sperm used for Mike. Apparently it's a real commondity and people want to buy it. The donor has a great track record for producing children. Over the weekend, she asked me what I would want and I said I'd always wanted another redhead. She said she wouldn't want my ex-husband to donate and I agreed quickly. It would be interesting using the same donor she'd used before, as any new baby would be a half sibling with Mike as well as a half sibling through me for J.

I told her I would not do it right away. I do not like the thought of being engaged in this stuff near the outset of our relationship, when I'd rather be showing her Europe. With her money, though, it'd be possible to go with children and travel.

Anyway, Bea presents a lot of issues and opportunities. She wants to buy a house near me for the schools; I began looking and drove through my preferred neighborhood. That way, locally, I could still do my art thing the way I've carved it out the past few months. I keep thinking that I could have my cake and eat it too, that J could begin middle school in the location I'd prefer, that I could have a dedicated art studio with proper lighting and supplies, that I could have a baby with a partner who would actually be actively involved and sufficient enough to make it feel easier, that I could stay in this area and do all the things I love. The possibilities are endless. I could so the simple stuff I like and not worry. I could never be extravagent, yet I would be able to do so much simple stuff with such freedom.

I already have it worked out with her that before anything her money does jeopardizes my income, I will have a legal contract that my various incomes/insurances/home are protected and she'll be required to compensate me. She's said for herself that she does not require a prenup, but it's funny that me and my piddly interests do.

She gives free access to her ATMs etc. Her last ex went to the ATM daily and withdrew the max - that is, the max that Bea is allowed (like $5K or something) if she goes directly to the card's bank. Bea didn't mind that a bit. What's hers is her mate's.

She spoke of the Vermont laws which allow for outsiders to get married. The only quirk is upon breaking up, when a year's residence would be required during the separation. Apparently the Vermont law can be applied elsewhere, so that legal rights are conferred for hospital settings, financal concerns, family issues, etc. I would need to research this more, because I've assumed for a very long time that I would never remarry.

Although it doesn't sound like I am taking it slowly, I am. This is all in the hypothetical. I do not have my hopes up. I still have way too many walls around my heart, but it feels so good to dream a little.

It only gets better

Seems the therapist gave the other woman Bea's phone number. When Bea didn't call last night, the woman called her at 7am. It woke her up and she just got off the phone as quickly as she could.

She was supposed to see the therapist today, but didn't go. The therapist called and asked why she didn't come and Bea said she wanted to stop. Late this afternoon, the therapist came to her house uninvited. Said Bea needed to see her and she added a fourth session to her schedule next week to compensate for the one missed today. Bea declined. It got heated. Bea said she didn't want to hear from her or her friend again. The therapist said Bea still owed her for today and Bea just rolled her eyes. After she left, she called the clinic and said she did want to see this therapist again. Turns out the therapist had, without her knowledge, scheduled her for four sessions next week. So she canceled them and hopefully is free.

If the therapist had not come by, I was writing a letter on Bea's behalf to the therapist. I have urged her to report the woman and will continue to do so.

After doing Scouts all morning tomorrow and painting in the afternoon tomorrow, I'm driving the three hours down to see her; twice in the past we've met in the middle. I'll evaluate things then. I assure you that I have a good head on my shoulders about this. I am not dependent. I have not fallen. My eyes are wide open. She is pursuing me and I am taking it very slowly. I do not think she is playing me (gosh, just think how suspicious and paranoid I am!), but I am very prepared if that's the case. In some situations in my life, trust is granted easily. In situations like this, it is not. She is naive, but I don't think it is terminal. She needs better people around her.