There’s that ovulation pain thing. The one where Satsuma feels as if she is being put through a mangle, and always surprises me by always feeling it far further out and up in my lower right abdominal quadrant than I think she ought to feel it, but since when do I get a say in my own anatomy? It happened Tuesday evening. But it didn’t hurt enough. How much is enough, any way?
My temperature was up this morning. How many times have I written or thought that sentence in the past year and a half? How many times has it meant absolutely buggerall?
I do not tell H about these things. I don’t expect him to deal well with the HOPE! Crash. HOPE! Crash. HOPE! Crash. Admittedly I don’t deal with it well, but H’s libido is to be protected from frustration and anxst at all costs. Shhhhh.
In two or three days’ time, my temperature will have either stayed up (‘rah!) or crashed down again (boo!), and then I shall know whether to pull the lever that shifts the Anxst Train from the Circle-Ovulation Line to the Jubilee-Or-Not Line through the TwoWeekWait suburbs.
Meanwhile, we stay very quiet, and pretend we haven’t noticed anything at all. We do not speak of this. We go limp and tap out.