There's two things I've wanted to write about, but I've been putting it off because I've been very busy, and I know that if I come back home to write when I'm tired, I don't do a very good job of capturing whatever it is that I wanted to capture.
On Friday I went to V.'s house early in the morning, at 7am. We were to go to the fertility clinic to provide each our part of the DNA for our... "fertility project" as the doctor named this thing that we are doing. I laughed at this term, but I also couldn't find a better name for it, I told V., I'll call it "our fertility project" until we are officially pregnant, then I'll call it our pregnancy. I know calling it "our" is taking a lot of credit, but the other way around ("your pregnancy") sounds even worse.
I had barely slept the night before. I wasn't nervous, I just seemed to lay awake for no good reason. Of course when I told this to V. she looked at me suspiciously, but I told her "if I had any doubts about this I wouldn't have woken up with the alarm. It's easy to oversleep when you have a task you are dreading in front of you". Shrug.
On our way to the clinic we told each other the stories about the body and dancing that we are both exploring separately. We have a lot in common—perhaps too much to be a romantic couple—but this works out in our favor regarding our friendship and our "fertility project". I told her "my best friend advised me against this project, and I usually listen to him, but he doesn't know you. He's good at reading people, I'm sure he would understand if he knew you". She said to me "my sister also told me I was putting myself in a vulnerable position and I told her the same thing". I said "yes, that's what we think now, but once we are on the other side we might disagree more". She said "as long as we agree that what is best for the child is what we should be doing, we will be on the same page" and this calmed my uncertainty because I know this will always align us.
After filling a bunch of forms and speaking with the anesthesiologist and the gynecologist they took V away while I waited in a private room. She was to be put under general anesthesia for the procedure. When she came back in a stretcher she was disoriented and had trouble following instructions, but she was chill. I laid down next to her in the small bed in the private room they had assigned us.
I received a notification on my phone: shit, I had a meeting for a release I had completely forgotten about! We were supposed to work from home because—synchronicity asked us not to go to the office that day because there would be intermittent internet at the office. I considered my options: I could attend the meeting in that small room at the risk that a nurse entered and I would have to give explanations... I said to V. "I think it's best that I take the call in a nearby café and come back". So that's what I did, I said I had gone to the library but I couldn't take the call inside the library so I went to a café. I did that and then came back to the clinic.
After I had come back the doctor came back with bad news: they hadn't extracted any viable eggs. I was supposed to donate my 50% of genetic material, but now it was unnecessary. I strangely felt indifferent. "it just means now is not the time" I said, "probably next cycle". V wasn't put down either. We took a cab back to her home, where I worked from her house while she lay in bed, resting. She was to be overseen in case she felt wonky, fortunately everything was OK. She felt good enough to have lunch at a restaurant nearby and I worked the afternoon while V. rested. When it was time for my dance class we said goodbye with a 20 second hug, as she has asked of me lately. I have said to her: what matters is not the length of the hug, it's the quality. So, besides making it a long hug, we make it close and breathe into it. Best of both worlds me thinks.
On Sunday I had signed up for an event with people from Couchsurfing. There was a "water war" in a working class district of Madrid, called Vallecas. People go out with water guns and soak each other. I didn't really feel like it, and I lamented my weed free state—surely this was something I would enjoy if I was high—but I had made the commitment of not smoking while trying to conceive.
I've always thought it's so strange why we consume substances so that we might desire other things. Like, you might not like nightclubs, but you drink so you like them. Does this mean that you don't like nightclubs? Why are aphrodisiacs so popular, when you could be at ease not wanting sex? Anyways, I think I would have gone to the smoke club if time hadn't crept up on me, and to meet the people from couchsurfing would mean I would have to forgo weed. Perfect.
At first I wasn't at ease. We marched through crowds. We didn't have any water to fill our guns. It was kinda overwhelming. I bough a beer calm my nerves. One beer doesn't do much, but with time I eased into it. It started becoming fun. At some point I lost the couchsurfing guys in the crowd. I felt more at ease alone. I bought another beer. I wasn't drunk yet when I finally shook off my anti-sociality, engaging in playful guy fights with a lot of people.
At some point along the route I found a car with an immense audio system blasting reggaeton from the trunk. People were dancing and drinking unashamedly. "Oh this is my place" I thought. I bought more beer and danced away. It was amazing, it made me think: there is no reason not to do this instead of the nightclub bullshit we do every weekend. It seemed to me like a music video at moments: beautiful people dancing in scantily clothes with a car blasting out music in the middle of a working class district of Madrid. We playfully encouraged each other to dance more sexy around a circle, then a young attractive lady came to dance with me... Oh I was in heaven thinking "no weed and three beers don't bring this ecstasy, I'm quite sober and enjoying myself in a way I will never forget, literally".
Well, after a couple of hours the young lady would ask me if I was gay to which I replied I was not, and she scurried away. I had drunk too many beers, and the sun was coming down, so it was time to end the party. From the lack of memory of when I decided to leave and how I got to the subway I presume I was quite drunk.
I do remember what happened when I exited the metro: a woman said something to me, I don't remember how our conversation started, but I remember she was the first one who spoke to me. I said I was coming back form the water war of Vallecas. She asked me if I wanted to smoke weed at her place, it was just around the corner. I said "of course" and we went there.
Her apartment was spacious, shared with a large amount of people looking at the numerous doors accesible from the common area. She went into the bathroom and then went into her bedroom to fetch a jar of weed. We went to dining room table where she rolled two joints.
We smoked at the balcony. I told her "Oh I don't know if you are courageous of foolish to invite a stranger into your home, but rest assured, I'm not going to do anything that you don't want. I must warn—however, that I'm drunk, and now you've made me high, so I might debrallar —meaning a state of unconscious mania that comes from being too drunk or too high, or both of at the same time.
She said "don't worry, I have a good eye for rapists. I've only been raped once, and I will never let it happen again". I said "I'm so sorry to hear that, you know, it's horrible because blah blah blah", and she said "no, wait, I want to tell you the story. I was in Venezuela and I took a cab..."—I don't know why I kept interrupting her story, I was admittedly too drunk and too high, but it's not something I would usually do. My best guess is that I was avoiding her doing trauma dumping on me. I do remember her telling me to shut up so that she could finish her story. I don't know how it ended. In all honesty I think I didn't want to vibe with that at that moment, even if I was sober I would have listened.
We went inside and she put on music on a sort of DJ stand she had in her living room. I kinda danced on my chair while appreciating her DJing skills, I then kind of approached her physically to get a feeling of myself and herself and there was no possibility of a connection, I was too out of it, and I wasn't really attracted to her. I don't know how much time I was there, perhaps an hour, before I declared I was too drunk or too high for this to go anywhere else, and I would go back home which was just around the corner. I asked for her number which I put down on my phone but I never saved, and I left. As she escorted me out she said "didn't you bring a bag with you" and I replied "oh bags those are mariconadas" (things for gays) and she said "no really, you had a small backback on you" and she directed me to the couch where I had dropped my backpack. I laughed heartily and said "Well, your mouth is full of reason, I did bring a mariconada what can I say". We said goodbye in good terms.
The next day (Monday) I woke up with a reasonable hangover, which I took to work. I had the constant nagging that I feel when I drink too much, and at the same time there's nothing that I did which I regret. I don't understand why this happens, I might feel shame even though my behavior is perfectly reasonable. If it's unreasonable... well then the shame is multiplied by a thousand, and it lasts for years.
The aftermath of this is a feeling that I won't get what I'm seeking for with this approach. I asked for both a child and sexual liberty and yet when it's in front of me, I pass.
Both events—I would call them failures at conception—happened in the same weekend. I don't have a conclusion for myself, I simply sit in it perplexed. I didn't want to choose between one thing or the other, so I chose both, yet I get nothing. I will simply wait for this to unfold.