Not a good day

I feel as if I were a child's plaything, a toy, possibly a GI Joe from the dollar store, to be played with for a week, maybe two. Then a new toy or game will snag your attention, and I'll be dropped in the dust under your bed, soon dismissed from your memory as if I had never existed. Then the next time you want a few minutes with GI Joe, or need something to remind you of the good times you had, you'll look for me and search until you find me, dust me off, and you'll play with me as long as I can hold your attention. Even if GI Joe needs to save the world, I stick with you when you need me. But then something else shiny and new shows up, you're gone again, and I'm left in some long-forgotten corner of your closet with shoes that are no longer worn, an outdated computer, a jiu jitsu uniform that was worn twice, and other remnants of your past.

*****

I hate Clomid. Moody, hot flashes, tired ... but if it gets me pregnant (y'know, with hubby's help if he gets off the computer long enough to give me the rest of the baby-making ingredients), I'll quit complaining.