And now my body making preparations for ovulation. Or messing with my head. Or both. Or not.
It seems to have mislaid the note about being an anovulatory PCOSer.
I am, intellectually, delighted (with the proviso that if this does turn out to be a big head-mess, I will be, intellectually, pissed off).
Emotionally, I also seemed to have missed some kind of memo about this ovulating being a Good Thing, and some kind of normal cycle also being a Good Thing, and having sex with H being a Good Thing. Well, the sex part is totally a good thing. But everything else is making me a nervous wreck.
As for work, well, work is not helping. Staff leaving, staff off sick, staff being lacadaisical and pointless and getting a righteous scolding in the middle of the main office while the rest of us did seven variations on ‘I’m not listening I’m not listening lalalala…’.
And then there’s all that jolly hard studying lark, and the seas of young and single studenthood in which I swim much like a tench in a school of parrot-fish.
None of this is managing to take my mind off anything else. So here I sit, me and my dog-pile of issues. While my ovary churns away regardless.