Item: Do not throw a migraine on a Friday when everyone in the office is on leave except you and the office ding-bat. Even if the horse-pills work super-good and all you get is the highly entertaining aura (castellated scotoma (also known as fortification spectra, loss of left-hand field of vision, tingling tongue and lips, slurred speech, general inability to walk in a straight line, sudden inability to spell), it will make you the office ding-bat. Super-fun.
Item: I hate my dissertation. My dissertation hates me. I grudge every second I spend working on it with the concentrated loathing of a thousand suns. Nevertheless, I might actually finish it in time to go party with some friends the weekend before the Dreaded Monday I have to hand it in. Now that I have told the internets this, I will be ground zero for a chunk of debris from a passing airplane, or some other colourful and incapacitating disaster. Or, hey, writer’s block! I could have that again! And another migraine or two! Because the provera and clomid so help with that!
Item: Speaking of provera, I have taken my five-days-worth, and we are now waiting for the agonising haemorrhage we know and love to make a freaking wreck of my carefully planned study leave. H, on his way out to the shops this afternoon (while I clattered away at my lap-top in nothing but tee-shirt-with-hole-in and big knickers, oooh but I am so classy at weekends), actually remembered to get me to check my stock of medium tampons, big tampons, huge tampons and colossal tampons, panty-liners, towels with wings, and small sticky-backed duvets. Just in case. And that man is so beautifully well-trained he came back again with the extremely vital six bars of black chocolate. I’d marry him like a shot, but alas we are already both hitched.
Item: I am turning into an Olympics junkie. Help me. Send more strapping young men in tight shorts.