What I Did on My Summer Vacation

God. Where did the time go? It seems like just yesterday we were pouring whiskey down our throats and demanding that people dance on bars and now we're holed up in our living room with three holes in the gut eating nothing but saltines.

What I did on my summer vacation can be tidily summed up like this: I drank. Oh, I did more than that. I directed a hit play. No really. I did. I was compared to Julie Taymor. There were standing ovations, and glowing reviews, and the drinking. Oh my god, the drinking. I was in New York for about two weeks and I can't believe I made it through without puking on the street or in a taxi or even on myself. Others I know were not so lucky.

I had an amazing time. It was incredible to have something so close to me be so well received by so many people. It's something I could get really used to. I think maybe I'm already used to it. The night before the Times review came out (No, that phrase has not yet gotten old.) we stayed up all night until the paper came out so we could see it in print. We stood around in the Graceland Deli on Avenue A reading our names in print in the New York Times - drunk, exhausted, smiling like lunatics. Then we went for pancakes. I took a cab back to the hotel after breakfast. The sky was brightening over the East River as I rode up First Avenue with the window down. I'll remember that color of blue forever.

Now I'm home. I faced off with the mountains of laundry and the dog has forgiven me -  so, I think, has Alex. There's the natural low that comes after finishing a show, which leaves me standing in my living room looking for someone I can tell where to go and what to do. And that low is intensified by my work on this show having lasted so long and being so successful and taking place in New York and the general rock star-ness of my life for those few weeks. And because I am who I am and I deal with depression anyway, that low is to be expected.

Except that on top of that I had to come back and have surgery. Surgery associated with infertility - girly-bits surgery. This meant going back and doing the same surgery that my last doctor did but actually taking care of the problem that she didn't take care of, as well as cutting into my abdomen and getting rid of some endometriosis. And by get rid of, I mean cut out. And by cut out, I mean cut off, and the recovery time which was supposed to be two or three days has turned into nine and I still haven't left the house, or even the couch for longer than about half an hour, and low has turned in prostrate, literally and figuratively and I am not having any fun. At all.

I would like to feel positive about the outcome of the surgery. I mean, I woke up. That's good. And they found something wrong and fixed it. That seems to make everyone else happy. Yeah Endometriosis! And hey what's five or six more people seeing my vagina.* Plus they put these really hot mesh disposable undies on you after the surgery and next time, I'm totally asking for extras.

The thing is, I know what's coming: more visits to the doctor, more calendar counting, more ovulation kits, even more hormones, injections, pregnancy tests. And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is the hope. When Alex and I decided to give ourselves a break at the beginning of the summer I had no idea what a release it would be. We didn't know at the time that the break would be as long as it was, but I'm so glad it was. Not because I got to drink as much as I wanted and not think about my cycle and not take fertility drugs - although that was all fucking great - but because I wasn't hoping I was going to get pregnant for three months. So I wasn't sad that I wasn't pregnant for three months. It was a break from the great big fat fucking disappoinment that is infertility.

I know that compared to what's happened to so many people in the last couple of weeks my disappointment is a trip to Disneyland. But I am feeling sorry for myself. That is not unusual. Thankfully, I balance that self-pity with self-loathing and neuroses and a biting sense of humor. That's the charm of me. That is why all three of you love me.

*I think maybe I'll start a tally of people who've seen my vagina since this whole process started. It will be called The Vagina Thumpers.