Waking temp: 97.5
I think my body’s just fucking with me now. 97.5 is right on the line of “still high” and “falling”. So in a fit of reverse psychology, I wore my … what’s the word?… “not-so-cute” undies this morning, if you get what I mean. After all, everybody knows that if you wear white underwear, you can force your period to start. So maybe by wearing the “expectant” underoos, AF will be warded off.
And Manly and I are planning to go out for sushi tonight. So if she’s coming, today’s the day.
Anyway. A lot of you have commented on my patience. But really, I’m not all that patient. I’m fucking terrified. I have this tiny little shred of hope that’s dependent on an unreliable number from this morning. That’s all I’m able to hold on to at the moment, a flickering light at the end of the tunnel. I’m terrified to test, because I’m afraid that it would kill that little bit of hope. At this point a negative is NEGATIVE. It would mean that this cycle is OVER. I’m just not ready to face that yet.