Did you ever do something that you knew was a really stupid idea? There’s a voice in your head saying, “don’t do it.” But you do anyway. Well, that was me this morning when I peed on a stick.

A little back story…

As it would turn out, the higher dosage of Clomid appears to be the right combo for me as I actually ovulated this month. I found out a day before we left for Key West. Oh, yeah, I was in Key West. So anyway, five days from now I will either get my period or I won’t. But me being the impatient one that I am, I decided to test myself earlier than I should have. Surprise, surprise, it was negative. The problem is the entire exercise was futile as I could still be pregnant. A false negative is not uncommon so early. So like I said, stupid idea.

Why is it that I just can’t let what will be, be? My external voice is just really loud and bossy and it squashes the internal voice to the point of oblivion. Maybe there’s a third voice, the voice of chaos and anarchy, that just pops up when a battle is going on and says “Yeah, we all know this is dumb, but what the hell, let’s do it.”

Oh, me and my crazy antics.

So, here I’ll be for the next few days, listening to the voices in my head and counting down the days. Perhaps I should try humming….

Said, woman, take it slow
And it’ll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience

It appears I’ve been rendered mute. Not literally, thank God. If anyone recalls my bout with laryngitis last year, you’re aware that I don’t take too kindly to not speaking. I mean figuratively mute. It’s been more than two weeks since I last wrote and to be honest, I feel like I have nothing to say. I’m not quite sure why this is. My best reasoning is that my life has evolved greatly since I began writing this blog.

It’s not yet two years  but the point where I was mentally then is much farther than where I am now. I am calmer and more secure in myself and my life. I feel settled. Just the act of trying to have a child is an indicator that things are way different. I’ve always wanted kids but at that time, I just wasn’t ready.

I started this blog for a reason. I did something unthinkable to someone I loved and I needed an outlet for my guilt. I succeeded, and now since the storm has settled, and my mind and body have too, my feelings are not as tangled.

So I’m not sure where that really leaves now. It’s good, for sure. But now the motivation to explore and make sense of those complicated feelings is very low. I guess that means that I may be mute for a bit until I find a new voice.

There are days where I feel like I’ve just wondered into crazy town. I look around me and think, “Really, this is life when I’m not dreaming?”

Today…work was crazy. I’ll stop there because I really don’t want to whine. I’d like some wine, but alas I settled for some vodka and a South Beach dried juice pouch. Yes, I’m living the high life.

So here’s what I say to days like today — laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. When you’re stressed to the point of tears, not sure if it’s just you or everyone else out there, when you want to throw, kick, or hurt something, just laugh. When you laugh, what else is there to do. Nothing.

Though, I’d suggest not laughing at your boss when they have a particularly crazy moment. Though entertaining, it usually doesn’t go over well. I’m speaking from experience.

I can do a lot of things.

I can dance — in just about any style you can think of, though choreographed moves never go well because of my coordination issues.

I can cook reasonably well. Not amazingly, but enough to go, “mmmmm…that’s good.” And I make an awesome apple pie.

I can read music and play the flute. Sometimes at the same time.

I can speak in public, and I’ve got excellent phone etiquette.

I can read a book, talk politics, swim, make homemade pizza and so much more.

But what I can’t do, even with the help of the fertility gods, is ovulate. Just can’t make it happen.

“It’s frustrating.”

That’s what my doctor said when she came in the room with my ultrasound images and announced that after 21 days into my first round of Clomid, I still had tiny follicles. What’s a girl to do?

So, naturally, my immediate first thought was to go home and give my ovaries a strong talking to. I mean after all, there are eggs in there; I can see them. It just won’t let them out.

But I swallowed my ill will and tried hard not to hit the panic button. As my doctor said, there are options available and one way or another something has to work. They can’t stay in there forever. Can they?

Now, I am on my way to round two of the Clomid at a double dose, with the hopes that we can coax a few of those eggs out of their shell. I will admit, all of this is a bit disappointing. Without ovulation, we can’t even get to the trying-to-have-a-baby stage. I can’t even qualify for the race.

But, despite my very negative attitude of late, I am trying really hard to remain positive. Just a minor setback and I could be in a much worse position. As it appears, I have all of the necessary items, and they all look in tip-top shape, so once we get the wheels in motion, my body should be capable of conceiving.

It’s amazing to me that a girl who doesn’t shut up and is always making a spectacle of herself could have chronically shy eggs. If only I could find a way to ply them with some vodka. I’m just kidding. Or maybe….

This is the sign for an elevator:

This the sign for a restroom:

When you find yourself in a predicament in the middle of a very large mall, do not confuse the two. Or else two people, innocently exiting the elevator, will come across you looking completely baffled and inquiring as to whether or not the restroom is upstairs.

“But that sign has little people on it. Doesn’t it mean the restroom?”

“No. I’m sorry that’s the sign for the elevator.”

I just don’t know if there’s really more I can to say that, or really after that incident, if I should ever say anything ever again.

There are days where I feel like I’ve just kind of stumbled backwards into this whole baby-making thing. Like I was just walking down a hallway one day, saw a door marked “baby making” and said “alright then, I’ll have a go.” Not sure why I was British at the moment, but my point is I feel like I should be more committed, more knowledgeable about what lies ahead.

I’ve been trying to be casual about this whole thing, which I think is good. You know, don’t stress out too much, keep the ovaries relaxed and soothed. But last week I took my first round of Clomid. The whole idea of it is it’s supposed to get you ovulating and supercharge your eggs (I keeping having visions of these muscular versions of the Robbins eggs you get at Easter; sick I know). As I don’t ovulate, you would figure this would be perfect for me. But when I went in on Thursday I was told this:

“Well, I don’t see any large follicles here.”

I’m sorry, what? I had no idea what the size of my follicles had to do with producing a baby. I said as much to the doctor, and apparently it has everything to do with it. Large follicles means you will soon be ovulating, and as already mentioned, that’s the goal. Nobody told me there was a size requirement to get on the baby-making ride. I’d assume I’d waltz in there and get my schedule for “the point of intercourse” and be on my merry way. Instead I was sent packing with an appointment to repeat the whole exercise next week. But apparently none of this is abnormal and regularly occurs, and I feel stupid for not knowing this stuff.

I am trying really hard to stay away from the Internet, because not only do I think I have every disease possible, now when  I read comments and stories from other women, I feel completely inadequate. They got it down pact and here I am all confused and not sure what large follicles has to do with anything.

But I will just keep moving forward and learn as I go. Next week I’ll find out whether or not the Clomid was actually effective. If not, then I’ll have to repeat the whole thing at larger dose. Sounds fun, right? Excuse me while I scratch my head and stumble into another room…

So I have to revisit an earlier post of mine only because the topic on which I wrote, has gotten quite a lot of searches and I find it funny and kind of sad at the same time. That would be “Smack your Boss Day.”

At least once a day since it was posted, I’ve been receiving traffic through various keyword searches all related to causing harm to bosses, including “beat your boss,” “smack your boss,” “hit your boss,” and “smack your boss day.”

In my infinite curiosity, I searched for “smack you boss day,” utterly baffled by the fact that people would be searching for this and, I have to confess, I’m not the first to come up with this brilliant idea. There was another blog from quite a few years ago proposing the same type of day and a few other mentions to it. Now, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. To think that I’m so incredibly clever has to come up with such an idea of wanting to hit your boss (I mean really isn’t that one of the oldest cliches) is ridiculous.

I do worry though for the safety, health and well being, not just for the bosses of the world, but for the employees. I mean, seriously, with all these people running around wanting to beat up their boss, no wonder there’s so much road rage during my commute, and it just can’t be good for future health. All of that pent up frustration.

That would be the sad part of my feelings.

I’m not really sure what to do about the phenomenon accept to say this:

Greetings to all of you who’ve found me through a search related to wanting to smack your boss. You and I have something in common and I can commiserate. I now dream about jabbing him with pens but I ask you not to follow my bad example and strongly oppose any actual violence to your boss.

Now, for the sake of our future health, let us all take one giant deep breath…1…2…3…in…..and out…..Great. We can now continue on with life as happy and calm as ever.

If that didn’t work then may I suggest the following combination, which works wonders for me:

1 nicotine lozenge

1-hour cardio workout

1 dirty martini (extra dirty)

1 100-calorie fudge bar

Hope that helps and thank you for stopping by.

I’d like to take this moment to apologize  to anyone who or has someone they love who has a medical condition, anyone who does not have insurance, anyone who has insurance and needs to use it, anyone who’s had to buy prescription drugs, anyone who’s gone to the doctor, anyone who’s gone to the emergency room, anyone who has a serious illness, anyone who is allergic to anything, anyone who’s lost their job, small business owners, anyone who is retired, anyone in a nursing home, anyone getting home healthcare, and anyone else who has ever had any dealings with the healthcare or medical field at large.

I’m sorry that the system does not work in your favor. I’m sorry that medical coverage is not easy to understand or navigate. I’m sorry that it can often taken 20 minutes to get a live human being when contacting your insurance company. I’m sorry if you’re not properly briefed when your medical coverage suddenly changes. I’m sorry if no one takes the time to explain everything to you. I’m sorry if someone is rude when you ask a question or need to get more information. I’m sorry for the expenses.

And most of all, I’m sorry that the group of people we’ve elected are more concerned about their political gain/loss and saving face than your health and well being.

It is not your fault. It makes no sense and oftentimes your head is probably reeling at the fact that your coverage can unexpectedly end, that when you need it most you’re denied insurance, or you can’t put your otherwise healthy child on your policy because of some weird allergy or other incredibly odd reason.

It’s just not fair.

To lighten the mood, a snippet of a conversation I had with a hospital operator today:

Me: “Hi, I have a question regarding semen analysis.”

Operator: “Can you repeat that?”

Me: “I need to find out information on doing a semen analysis.”

Operator: “I’m sorry hon. What was the patient’s name? I can’t hear you.”

Me: “It’s not a patient. I need to get semen analyzed.”

Operator: “I’m sorry dear. I need to transfer you to the info link. I can’t find the patient you’re looking for.”

Oh, how I wanted to write a clever, poignant blog that was witty, insightful and altogether positive. You know, the kind of blog I’ve always wanted to write but could never quite pull off.

Well, here’s the deal. I’m cranky and, in full disclosure, gassy too. I’m on the hormones again and despite what my boyfriend says, I’m not using the side effects as a crutch nor am I making up symptoms because I’m a hypochondriac. Yes, I do tend to think I’m dying of a rare disease every time I have a slight headache, and yes I should be banned from using Web MD. But I’m telling you that I am irritable and I do have major stomach cramps and I had these (and was complaining about them) well before I looked up side effects of Progesterone. So, OK, I think it’s clear that you can hit a giant check mark next to irritable.

I’m so afraid that pretty soon I’m going to turn from Super Holly into King Kong Holly. Only instead of clutching onto a blond lady on the top of a building, I’ll be crouching on my house shaking a martini in one hand and chugging down Maalox with the other.

Now, I’ve never been pregnant (obviously, or this would all be a moot point) but I’m starting to question my ability to handle it gracefully. I’ve always been in love with the idea of being pregnant. Ever since I was in 7th grade and my mom was pregnant with my younger sister. I’ve always thought it such a magical and beautiful process. But here I am not even able to get to the point of trying and I’m already having difficulty squeezing into my pants, need to carry around my own can of air freshener, and I’m ready to cry in an instant.

Maye I’m just not man enough to handle pregnancy (you, know in a manner of speaking)? Or maybe my non-ovulating body is trying to tell me something, like “Lady, you are just way too whiny, addicted to caffeine and swear too much to have a baby.” Perhaps.

Unfortunately, as my boyfriend was unable to get everything in order in time to make his special donation, it looks like the process will be prolonged even further and I will need to go through this yet again. They don’t want me to proceed to the next step until they are certain nothing is wrong with him. Which is good, but still, I find myself wishing again that it was a more natural process. It all feels so contrived and it’s really hard being off the pill. I’m embarrassed saying this but I’m growing a beard. Really, a beard. Now as I write this, I just want to say that I know there are people that are going through way worse than me and have been trying for a very long time with no success. I know that overall I am very lucky and there appears to be no other issue than the lack of ovulation. I may be irritable but that doesn’t mean I have to insensitive.

But a girl can whine a little, at least on her own blog, right?

Let me tell you a bit about my Friday….

It started off normal enough. I awoke (1 hour later than I wanted to). I turned on a rerun of Charmed (go ahead, laugh, sneer, do whatever you must). Then I went to work on proofreading my article for a small paper I started freelancing for.

Run of the mill. Not bad.

But then, the rest of the day was spent:

Tracking down a pinata that talks

Finding out where you could have your semen analyzed in my area

Searching for super balls

Looking for individually-wrapped prunes (large quantity)

Buying super balls

Buying a pinata

Buying a plastic rat that squeaks

Buying a pumpkin-decorated, plastic cocktail shaker

Painting a picture of Michael Jackson and Bubbles the Monkey

And then of course to round off the day, I bought two bottles of wine and a case of beer. Just to mix it up.

I could tell you why I spent the day doing these things, and if you read this blog you may have guessed at least one. But I find it funnier instead to say that my day consisted of dropping off semen, Michael Jackson, bouncing balls, and a monkey.

Now, that’s what I call a day.