My MIL is still with us, but has gone to bed early (we dragged her into town where all the Culture is kept, and ran her ragged. I think if she sees one more piece of installation art she’ll fuse a circuit). So, hello, internets! What have we to report?
Heartburn, bad last night, not bothering me in the slightest today. Desire to puke on someone for lighting a cigarette within two time-zones of me, check. Oversensitive sense of smell, check. Persistent headache, check. Irritable as a wasp in a jam-jar of vinegar, check. Cup of fancy fairtrade elaborately prepared (decaff (natch (as my MIL seemed surprised by the decaff thing I made up some bull about overdosing on coffee because of a seriosly busy work week and wondering if that had contributed to the migraine on Monday (whereas it was more likely to be withdrawal, eh)))) coffee MIL bought me after lunch today, nasty. OK, that last one is bugging me. As are the four nested parentheses, but I’m too tired to do anything about them.
The Devil’s dumplings are also still tiresomely achey, to the extent where I have to argue myself out of crossing my arms under them for extra support when trotting down stairs. It’d help if I was wearing a more supportive bra, but they don’t fit in the more supportive bra just at present. I can practically rest my chin on the damn things. H wishes I’d let him rest his chin on the damn things.
I haven’t peed on a stick at all today. I just couldn’t face my usual ritual of pacing in and out and in and out of the bathroom for 30 minutes, glaring at it, while the MIL looked on bewildered. And anyway, I’m not on speaking terms, let alone widdling terms, with the horrid little teases at the moment. Yesterday’s stick produced a faint line before the *cough* pee *cough* had even soaked all the way up the strip, which promptly vanished, reappeared as a SPECTACULAR evaporation line, vanished again, reappeared as a grey ghost of a thing an hour or so later, and then entertained itself by only appearing at certain lights in certain angles. Which means it’s negative, right? Right? Right. OK. Onwards.
Oh, and my mother called earlier this evening, wanting to invite me out to tea on my birthday, which was lovely, but I couldn’t accept with happy alacrity because the Crimson Tide might well have drowned me, making me not-taking-out-to-tea-able. That was an awkward conversation, and made my Mum feel bad for me. So now I feel bad for me. Pity’s a bugger like that.