So, this morning, my temperature was down. Ahhh, fuck it, I thought. Fuckitty fuckitty fuck. Arse. And then I went and put lots and lots of tampons in my bag, along with the mefenamic acid and the tranexamic acid.
H, meanwhile, had tonsils like scarlet golf-balls and couldn’t speak above a hoarse whisper. I left him at home in his jim-jams in a sort of unspeakable heap.
And the day wore on, and I had no cramps, and I had no spotting, and I sat in the loos at work staring at the blank white toilet paper and thinking, I am going to a concert this evening. Planning on turning up then with a whoosh, are we?
And I sat through the concert, still cramp-free, and I went to the loo afterwards, nada, and I came home, nada.
So, you know, at the very least, I can be pleased I now have a 13-day luteal phase instead of a 12-day one.
H was looking and sounding better when I got home as well.
I don’t know if today comes under ‘damnandblast’ or ‘not so bad, really.’
WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PERIOD?