June 06, 2002 | 10:34 AM

As the day wore on I felt stranger and stranger.

There were butterflies in my stomach and my heart was racing. And at the same time I felt monumentally sad. The kind of sadness that lives in your chest cavity and seeps through your whole body like a heavy fog.

On the bus ride home from work I asked myself,

What am I sad about? What do I even have to be sad about? I just had a great show. I�m moving to a great place. I made up with John and Jenn. I have lots of friends who care about me. I make good money and I like my job. I�m in school and doing well. I�ve been eating well and exercising and not drinking that much. To top it all off I�m on a heavy dose of antidepressants. I have it very very good. What am I sad about?

I attempted talking myself out of it, but the sadness wouldn�t go away. It thickened from a fog into a rainstorm and it swirled through my tear ducts and ran down my cheeks.

What the fuck?

I was ashamed of myself.

When I got home I listened to the Ramones and They Might Be Giants, two bands which never fail to bring a smile to my face. Neither one cheered me up.

And then I remembered a dream I had the night before.

In the dream I was on a table getting an abortion. But instead of removing the fetus, the doctors took out my entire uterus. My uterus was a giant lump of clay and one of the doctors fashioned it into a beautiful pot. I asked

What are you going to do with that?

The doctor smiled sadly.

I�m going to give it to a family who really needs it.

I became angry.

Well someday I�m going to need it.

The doctor shook his head.

Not you�re not. You already had your chance. You don�t deserve to have any children.

And that was the end of the dream.

And that�s what I was sad about.

Family. I have always always wanted a family. I want a husband and children and I want the warm feeling I had when I was a little girl sledding with my Dad. It�s infantile and counterproductive to want those things, but I want them.

I�ve had chances to have children and maybe I never will again. Maybe I�ll never love anyone again and I�ll never get married or have my own kids and I�ll be the eccentric aunt who buys all the nieces and nephews cool records.

I�m twenty-five years old. That�s still really young. Madonna had her first baby in her forties. I have a lot to figure out before I ever consider that kind of responsibility.

Things will happen the way they happen, I guess.

I�m glad I figured out what it was that was bothering me. I feel better now.