let me tell you about my ovaries

Aren't you all so glad I decided to hammer out 4 blog posts this evening? Because when I run out of ideas, I talk about my reproductive organs! Good times.

Long story short, mine hate me, apparently. I'm only 30, but I figure they're on strike. Maybe after 20 years, they were thinking about early retirement. Maybe they want a bigger slice of my internet revenue. I don't know. The union guys aren't talking to me anymore. And they've been picketing, refusing to do any worthwhile work.

But apparently, my ovaries have decided they are tired of sitting on their asses and they want to get up and get cracking again. Or else, there is a tiny gnome trying to burrow his way our of my left ovary out into the light. Perhaps both.

There's a word for this feeling- mittelschmerz. Those crafty Germans and their compound nouns! It roughly translates to "You are ovulating and will be doubled over your hot water bottle for the next couple of hours! Enjoy!" So now you know what I've been doing the last 90 minutes, aside from diligently blogging. And complaining bitterly to myself. Stupid ovaries, what with their sense of comic timing and all.

And the bourbon, it is gone!

And now, I daren't take a NSAID, for fear of eating through my already compromised stomach lining. Sigh. At least I have my beer and hot water bottle.

Wow. I bet you all are overjoyed that this makes 4 posts for tonight. Otherwise, I'd have to resort to telling you about that one time last year when my toe almost rotted off and killed me! No, really, it could have! And I have photos! But don't worry, I'll save that story for tomorrow.

Good times, indeed.