Hope drips

It's an interesting thing, watching hope drip out of your body. Oddly poetic that it should drip (sorry to be gross) into the toilet, no? It's just rife with poetic justice that this very stuff started in my heart and travelled through my body to form a nest in my womb. And it's not needed. Again. And so I flush it away.

I've been a headcase for the last day and a half and I'm not sure why. I still half-insane-hormonal. Everything makes me want to cry. Is it just because the "want" was in every cell of me, and so the disappointment is then in every cell of me? I don't think that's it. It feels more chemical than that. But I've never had emotions like this with PMS.

Nevertheless, it's CD1 again. It's the only day I will count this time I think. I need a break. I need to know going in that it won't work, and I need to have chosen it, and I need a month where I don't wonder every day of it, stronger and stronger through the last days of it, if "this" is the time.

Tomorrow maybe, or maybe the day after tomorrow, I will find my bootstraps and wrap them around my hands and pull myself up again. But tonight, I plan to lay in the dark, stare at the wall, tell my God that I'm not angry and that I love Him, ask for help loving my family tomorrow, ask that I might not dream tonight, and then just go to sleep.

Everything's gonna be all right... rockabye.