Every year, my husband
makes me invites me to participate in what the basketball nerds call bracketology. He sends me the link, and I guess who’s going to win each match-up based on gut-feeling or whether or not I like the school’s colors or mascot or if I have any connection geographically. This year, Hubby’s alma mater is a #5 seed, but I would gladly pick them to win it all.
Our city also happens to be hosting some games, and Hubby tried to convince me that we needed to spend $90 each to attend a couple of them. He must have been full-on crazy if he thought I would say yes to that. Especially given my tendency to melt down in crowded places.
Speaking of meltdowns, if I were to describe my mood lately as if I were one of the kiddos I work with, I would use the words “fussy,” “irritable,” or possibly “cranky-pants.” But, as I am a grown-ass woman, I think I have to tell it like it is: I’ve been a raging bitch. Hubby undoubtedly gets the brunt of this (poor Hubby). At work, it’s a lot of grumbling under my breath or shouting profanities at other drivers (who clearly are far less skilled behind the wheel than I am) from the safety of my car. With the windows rolled up.
I can’t point to anything specific that’s been setting me off, other than my period is due this weekend. But it’s been going on a little too long to use PMS as an excuse. I worry that it’s my old
friend nemesis depression creeping back in. I’ve been able to ward her off lately, and I have to say, I think airing the crazies publicly here has helped tremendously.
What I think is doing me in is all the optimism being spewed by people who really should know better. Like doctors. I wish Dr. C had never told me “it’s possible” for Hubby to regain normal counts. Because as much as I tried not to let it, that shit got my hopes up. And we actually had well-timed sex this month, and shortly after the HSG, which is supposed to be some kind of miracle worker, too.
I’m sure I’ll get my period on Saturday. There’s no reason (really) to believe otherwise. And I don’t want to believe otherwise because that just leads to me being crushed. And I’ve had quite enough of that.
P.S. Between the two of us, my bracket usually wins.