Aaaaand… *clunk*

My thoughts, on waking this morning:

  • Where’s the thermometer? Where? Where? Oh, there.
  • Dammit, I have a headache.
  • Dammit, I feel crampy.
  • I could really, really eat a very large bar of chocolate right this instant.

And then I looked at the thermometer, and it said: ‘You’ve crashed back down into hypothermic land. Sorry.’

I got out of bed and went to the loo, and the toilet paper said: ‘Look, bright red spotting! Pretty, huh?’ And my uterus went ‘cramp cramp’ in agreement.

It’s mid-afternoon as I write this. The headache made me feel dizzy every time I bent my head (darn those sinuses! Darn them to heck!) so I decided work and all its stupid non-functional book-hoists and stupid system crashes and other people with beastly spreadable colds could just do without me. Now that the time to leave for work has come and gone (I only do afternoons on Friday) my head feels suddenly immensely better. Huh. I am still pretty crampy and the bleeding is getting… bloodier, so I suppose it’s just as well I am sitting at home writing an essay instead.

I am in an odd mood right now, admittedly. I am disappointed. Getting your period when you’re trying to get pregnant, however inadvertently, is Disappointing. That’s all there is to it. I am grumpy, but having cramps is not exactly Mistress Cheerful’s Prescribed Antidote to the Blues. I am relieved, guiltily, shame-facedly relieved, because pregnancy followed by baby plus degree followed by thesis looked a bloody stupid idea even to me. I am relieved all over again, because an eleven or twelve day luteal phase may not be at all fantabulous, but it is long enough, more or less, to allow implantation, and certainly a good deal better than my previous best of nine days (and also, I know to point the gynaecologist at it if nothing has happened by the January appointment and stamp my pretty feet until I get some horrid little progesterone pessaries to play with). And relieved, thirdly, because getting my period now pretty much guarantees that the other ‘fertile signs’ two weeks ago were your bona fide ovulation after all, and NOT an elaborate joke on behalf of the Satsuma.

Back to bed, I think, with my books, my notes, my note-pad, my favourite pen, my lap-top, my tea, my knitting, my i-pod, my hot-water-bottle, my drugs, and my chocolate. Have I forgotten anything?


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