Slowly but surely I'm getting the plan for next cycle straightened out and all the prescriptions at all the pharmacies. (Okay, slight exaggeration since there's only 3 to get sorted.) It didn't help that my doctor's office kept calling my cell phone, which a) I am bad about remembering to charge and b) I don't always hear because it isn't always on me (it's a big house); I finally talked to the nurse yesterday. It's P+14, so CD1 is around the corner. I didn't want to get out of bed this morning... because, of course, hiding in bed solves everything (or not). Granted, hiding in bed would have avoid breaking a glass bowl while trying to rearrange the dishwasher, and I might have avoided screaming at my computer. (Because cussing out the computer fixes everything, too, right? Ah, hormones. I've been having memory usage problems, which Husbandido has been trying to help me trouble-shoot, but it seems like changing one thing just leads to a new cascade of problems.) It's just been a rough couple of days; I'm still a little tired from our weekend trip, and I've got a bunch going on this week. Last night's council meeting featured ~ 1.5 hrs of quibbling over commas and wording; it now looks like we're doomed to have 3 meetings this month, then we have to be at every Mass the first weekend of October. I'm definitely having "why did volunteer for this?" moments.
Some part of my brain is (was?) stupidly hopeful about this cycle, which is ridiculous, since there was only 1 I in the fertile window. Yes, it would be amazing if somehow we succeeded without Clomid or a marathon of I's, but the probability is ridiculously small. Not nonexistent because I was on post-peak HCG, but small. I tend to have a harder time the last few days of a cycle, waiting, always checking for spotting than I do once the start of a new cycle has begun.