I have a great big gnarly, multiple-pronged ball of rant stuck in my throat. But if I cough it up I know I'm going to offend, so I'm going to continue to drink lots of water in the hopes that I can get it to go down.
Swallowing my words.
It annoys me that I so often type "and" instead of "an".
I've been wondering a lot about of couple of faltering relationships; wondering if they have been irreparably damaged.
I want to sulk and plead innocence. Stamp my foot and say, "But I'm the one dealing with the combined tsunami of grief and infertility - it's not my fault" - but I probably need to take some responsibility for their slow decline.
The thing is, I have wonderfully strong relationships with lots of friends and family members who still want me, tattered soul and all.
So a little bit of me wonders how much I meant to those other people in the first place.
I'm procrastinating. I'm supposed to be writing a rush ad right now.
Don't tell my client.
I started Weight Watchers (again) on Monday.
I'd forgotten just how agonizing that first dreadful week is when all you can think about is every single delicious morsel of food you were gleefully able to jam down your great gaping pie whole just a few days earlier.
And now it's 20 nuts and low fat cheese. With a water chaser.
My body and I have been at war since I lost my very first baby five years ago Saturday. I have hated it since then for its inability to keep our babies safe over and over and over again. For its stubborn betrayal and frustrating defects.
So my theory is that if I can find a reason to be proud of it again - to see it losing weight and changing for the better - maybe I can resolve some of the antagonism I feel towards it.
Or maybe I'll just look better in a pair of jeans.
It's win-win either way.
I should really stop procrastinating.
Or maybe play just one more game of Word Twist...