And I've already gained back two of the pounds I sailed off this summer. And I nearly started crying in the book marketing meeting when the marketing director said she really, really wanted me to start an email newsletter.
I didn't, thank God. But you know. Among other things, I really really really don't want to start a fucking email newsletter. Because what am I going to be thinking about, primarily, in the coming months? IVF, that's what.
It's easy, they said, you just have like a picture, and maybe a track you're listening to, and what you're reading.
I immediately picture a photo of used needles, the same track I've been listening to all summer, and an article about protocols for DOR.
Fucking bullshit nonsense waste of time.
My period is due in six days. So in theory, one week from today I go in for Day 2 monitoring, and I probably start my shots that night. Today the huge pack of meds arrived. No syringes, strangely, but fortunately it doesn't matter because I still have so many of them that it's crossed my mind to find some kind of heroin needle exchange to donate them to.
Anyway. I'll try to buck up. Soon, the bucking up must occur. I must get with the program, as my father always used to say to me when I was sulking about something that I was expected to do.
Get with the program, Cartooniste. Stop all this mucking around. Make your fucking newsletter, take your fucking shots, and shut up.
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