Yes, I’m alive.
I’ve spent the last few weeks doing a variety of things.
Thankfully, most of those things involved staying in bed, or laying on the sofa.
I rewatched True Blood season four to get ready for the start of season five. I got swept up in a Sex and The City marathon too, and ended up watching a few seasons. I cleaned the bathrooms at our old place, and organized an open house so we could get that sucker rented ASAP. I watched entirely too much Dateline while Mike was visiting his family in Kansas for a few days. I discovered American Ninja Warrior, and the sweaty shirtless men who run and jump their way through obstacle courses. I was horrified to discover my DVR erased almost the whole first season of New Girl I had saved. My life is sad and empty without constant access to Nick Miller. My oldest friend is moving all the way across the country next week, so I spent a few days going through some very old pictures for a little project I’m working on for her. Man, the early 90s were not a good time to be photographed.
Additionally, I’ve also been overanalyzing every. little. tiny. sensation in my body.
See, if you’ve 1) have never been through fertility treatments, 2) been pregnant, or 3) are a man — the human body is a mysterious, hormonal nightmare.
All the things they say are a sign of pregnancy? Sore boobs, nausea, being tired, weird dreams. Yeah, those are also side effects of all the hormones I’m currently taking. They’re also basically the same signals you get when you’re decidedly not pregnant.
If that’s not proof God has a sense of humor, I don’t know what is.
And so the waiting game is long, and torturous.
The good news? My best friends are all teachers who are off for the summer, I’m unemployed, and the pool is open — so at least I can be tan and entertained.