The universe's ability to kick me when I'm down seems to be getting worse. For instance, I missed my therapy session on Saturday morning because I wrote down the wrong time. Then, I went to acupuncture, where I let me sweet doctor convince me that I could possibly be pregnant. I promptly drove home and peed on an OPK, the only kind of stick left in the house.
An empty circle.
AF responded by arriving during Joey and I's first dinner date in months: right before the couple next to us with the adorable little boy asked if we "had any of [our] own."
I can't blame the couple, though. It's not like I walk around with a sign tattooed on my head:
No, I can't have children. Yes, I do relax.
On the bright side, dinner was wonderful. I'm already looking forward to this weekend, when it looks like we'll be taking a little trip up to Gainesville for the first Gator game and then to Savannah for the rest of the weekend with friends of ours.
Joey is feeling good, for those of you who asked. His stomach is improving. He even managed a beer this weekend (shhhhh . . . no one tell his doctor). And he's fine from the car accident. The car is still at the shop. We are supposed to have it back at the end of the week. It has a lot of structural damage, but it's nothing the dealership can't fix.
That's about it for the weekend recap. One week of grad classes down, and I already have a ton of homework. I'll have to do a whole separate post on grad school. And maybe a Danica update. I think she's hit the terrible twos stage!
Happy Monday. Or, for me, happy CD2 of cycle #29. Is someone going to throw me a party when I hit cycle #30?