Item – I feel a lot better. I have ceased to menstruate, I only have a lingering dull ache in the lower pelvis that keeps making me think I need a pee (and I don’t. Or I do, but think it’s the lingering dull ache until I’m fricken’ bursting. Dammit).
Item – And my boss is being very kind to me. Which is nice. Which is disturbing. Which makes me feel weepy.
Item – I shall try and get a GP appointment on Wednesday (I have the morning off), to speak about a) anaemia, b) perhaps a referral to a gynaecologist who specialises in PAIN, rather than one who is so focussed on whether or not I ovulate she doesn’t give a flying for-crying about PAIN, and c) possible UTI (best be on the safe side).
Item – Meanwhile, in the Kick a Lass While She’s Down stakes, my mother called me up at work (what is it with my mother and work? She does not in any way comprehend that between 9:30 and 5:30, my time is not mine, and therefore is not to be filled with gossip and relations). She called me up this time to tell me that my ex-step-father, her ex-husband, who is sixty, is going to have a baby with his current girlfriend. Who is forty-five. She told me this in a cheerful, gee-golly-wow! tone, and I felt pissy and bitter and small and angry. And then, oh, oopsie, my mobile phone battery is running out, must go right beeep.
Item – Let me just repeat that. My ex-step-father (my relationship with him has veered from mutual cordial loathing to irritable dislike to lenient disdain), who is sixty, is going to have another child. Oh, how jolly nice for my half-sister Diva, who is 22, to have a baby brother or sister. How lovely. How spiffing. Isn’t Mother Nature glorious. Amazing. And she’s 45. Lucky her. Brilliant. Amazing. I don’t even know if either of them even wanted another bloody kid. At sixty and forty-five, I should imagine that they didn’t, and thought, oh, we’re old enough to be careless with contraception now. Eh. Here’s hoping the baby’s fine and the girlfriend’s fine and all goes fine. Here’s hoping I don’t have to hear all about it, because it’s fine.
Item – Fuck Mother Nature. Partisan bitch.