Busier than a hooker working on commission

So here I am at work on another Friday. Remember a few months back when I was all excited to have gotten my schedule changed to get Fridays off? I don't know about you, but it sure seems like a lot of Fridays off lately have been at least partially spent with me coming into this godforsaken place just to keep from drowning in horseshit, which is something I never want to drown in. Not exactly what I was envisioning few months back.

Today though, I have ulterior motives. See, I haven't told anyone here about what's been going on Re: my ovaries and the fertilization thereof. I figure (A) It's too early to discuss a pregnancy that has yet to begin and (B) it's none of their damn business. However it IS their business when I take time off and why. I've been lucky thus far in being able to finagle around appointments so that no one here is the wiser, but all that's over with now.

Tonight and tomorrow night I get shot up with Follistim. Then depending on what's revealed at the ultrasound Sunday morning, I will have to go down to Charleston (really Mount Pleasant, but no one's probably heard of that except Johnann who's been there for a golf tournament but it's close enough to refer to it as Charleston and really who gives a shit) either Monday or Tuesday; there's no way of knowing which day at this point. If the follicles are good in both number and size and I'm ovulating, Thundercats are go for Monday. If the follicles are right but I'm NOT ovulating, I have to shoot up a different drug on Sunday, one that induces ovulation and then I won't go to Charleston (Mt. Pleasant!) until Tuesday. Obviously, the goal of the fertility people is to do the insemination on the absolute best possible day for the successful meeting of Mr. Sperm and Mrs. Egg. But all this waiting and this depends on that and that depends on the other thing is pretty much causing my brain to melt.

As far as work is concerned, they know I have Monday off. They have no idea I might be taking Tuesday off as well and if that's the case, I'm just calling in sick. Because isn't that what sick days are for, having your husband's sperm injected into your uterus? All this stealth is a pain in the buttocks but it'll be over with soon. It's just happened to coincide with an ever-increasing workload lately, so as is the usual case with my life there's either nothing happening more strenuous than what's lined up to watch on the dvr OR everything that possibly could go on is going on.

A little stressful. But I think I'm handling it pretty well, especially considering I HAVEN'T SMOKED SINCE SUNDAY NIGHT!!! I'm sorry to keep bringing it up but I'm pretty freaking proud of myself. Brian is also kicking ass with it; he's sort of supplementing with those skinny little fifty cent cigars you get at the convenience store but only like one or two of those a day and just a little puff here and there. I'm AMAZED at how well he's doing. Dude has smoked cigarettes since he was FOURTEEN. We're both horrified at how long we've done something so stupid. And expensive! We're going to be saving between two and three grand a year by doing this and I have the actual figures written on a Post-it stuck to the computer to remind us of how much money we've wasted over the years but more because of how yippy-skippy we feel knowing we won't be anymore. We're a little slow sometimes but eventually we do catch on.

So wish us luck tonight sometime around 8:00, because that's when we'll do our Sid & Nancy impression and he'll shoot me up with a drug-filled needle. So romantic! I have my Sex Pistols cd all ready to go to help set the appropriate mood. Hopefully afterwards our bathroom won't look like the one Nancy OD'd in at the Chelsea hotel, but we are amateurs after all, so anything's possible.

Funny too; that's been my mantra for the past week - Anything is possible.