Honeymoon My A$$

I've just been diagnosed with UTI #1,578. Well, I'm exaggerating a bit but it sure seems like it. I'm sure I'm getting close to the double digits with these things over the past 2 years. The doctor called it "honeymoon cystitis". Sounds sexy, right? Wrong! It's basically a fancy way of saying that everytime you have sex, you get an infection. There's not much you can do except to go on prophylactic antibiotics. Fun times. So, I now have a cocktail of Macrobid and this other medicine that turns my urine fluorescent orange. It reminds me of the movie Coneheads when the girl cries and her tears are bright green. Call me Kristen Conehead. With the neon superhuman pee.

Oh, and you'll never believe what idiocy occurred in the shower this morning. I was shaving my legs and I guess I was in a bit of a rush and as I was going upward, the corner of the razor blade got caught on the thumbnail of my right hand and sliced right down the middle of the nail... past the quick. It hurt like a mutha and it bled so much I thought it had taken part of my thumb too. I wrapped it in a Band-Aid until I had time to run to the drugstore to get a nail repair kit. I felt like a retard sitting in my office trying to apply nail glue with my left hand. I'm a righty so after I was done, it looked like a kindergartener had just done it. These are the days I wish I were ambidextrous. So, when all my Maryland/D.C. Stirrup Queens see me on Sunday and my thumb is all bandaged, you'll know why. Who knew shaving could be so dangerous? I've only been doing this for like 13 years...you'd think I'd be better at it by now.

I haven't talked about my cycle recently and there's a reason why. There's not much going on in that department. CD38. Anovulatory as ever. I've all but given up on the hope I'll ovulate. But yet I can't bring myself to call the RE for Provera. It's just that I'll have to make the trek there so they can steal my blood and tell me I'm not pregnant (no shit, Sherlock) and that my P4 is low. I just don't have the energy to go through the charade. I want this cycle to end so we can go back on Clomid and actually have a chance. But yet I can't make the phone call. I can't quite figure out why. Maybe subconciously I'm scared of starting over. Starting over and failing time after time. Scared of actually getting pregnant again. Getting my hopes up and building dreams that will only crumble. Or maybe starting over means I finally have to admit defeat. And come to terms with the fact that we are moving on from our losses. We'd be saying our final goodbyes. And maybe I'm just not quite ready yet deep down.

I'm sure I'll get there soon. I don't want to wait forever and waste more time. I'll get tired of procrastinating eventually. But at least I have the weekend to prepare.