If I could ultimate punch today in the throat, I would. Twice.
Instead I choose to mope around my house and throw myself the most epic pity party in the history of ever.
I'm sad. And extremely irritated on multiple levels.
That's what happens when my shitty uterus fails me for the 48239048932048930th time.
A year and half of negative pee sticks, and you'd think I'd be use to it by now.
But I'm not.
I blame the treadmill.