Friday, September 21, 2012

Scotch, Sudafed, one line

Thinking of re-starting this blog.  Need a place to spill out the crazy.

It's the day before the pain really starts.  The day I got yet another negative pregnancy test.  When even in a month when I am not trying to get pregnant, I would be hormonally endo-rifically sad-for-no-reason at this point in my cycle.  When that fizzy hormone mixture hits when I have a reason, a reason to despair?  Take cover.

I am sipping scotch to celebrate no baby (in the grand tradition of drinking and blogging about one's personal shit).  I took lots of Sudafed today to also celebrate no baby.  There's got to be some kind of up-side, right?

My Facebook feed today: one friend's uterus ultrasound showing creepy vertebrae like she's growing a fish (with 280 likes), one much-loved friend's pregnant belly picture (I'm happy for her right right right?), one acquaintance's very pregnant belly picture, and one update from a friend about to go into labor lamenting how hard it is.  Everyone I drive by on the street is pushing a stroller.  I read someone's random blog post and of course it is about her own fruitful womb.  Then in the newspaper this morning there is a granola recipe for "those remarkable women," new mothers.  Who uses the word remarkable?  Mothers have their own special granola now?  Fuck that granola.

Having violent thoughts towards granola.  This is not good.

New job = pretty darn good.  Very thankful for that.  I have lots and lots to be thankful for, but none of those grateful attempts have much hold today.  Today I just need to be down here.  Black dog, etc., etc.

Speaking of black dogs that are not depression metaphors, we might get a real live black dog.  We can pretend it's our new child, refer to our expanding family, and divert focus from the pregnancy quest in such a way that we make carefree love and get knocked up when we weren't even thinking about it!  Wheee!

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