I'm contending with a ridiculous set of project deadlines over the next few weeks, and at 4:45 pm today I realized that — not only will I need to work ALL weekend (came to terms with that a couple days ago) — I must work tonight.
I'd already canceled my golfing plans, thinking I'd use this evening to rest up for the long (but, again, way too short) haul. But the joke's on me: I made precious little progress today. Hahahahahahahaha! At least, though, I came by my poor showing honestly. No goofing off, just couldn't produce.
Naturally, once I succumbed to feeling all the pressure, I thought, "Hey, I should blog at Infertile Ground! After all, I'm feeling inadequate. Like I won't be able to finish what I started. Just like old IF times!" (I should mention that I do know I'll meet my project deadlines. Pulling out all the stops works for that.)
Don't mind me. This compulsion to blog here is just a delayed reaction to seeing an ad for my old clinic a few weeks ago. The baby in it looked just like me.
I noticed the ad, thought my flash-crazy thoughts, and slammed shut the magazine. Then I instantly
Well, wouldn't you know? A fresh issue of that periodical showed up in the mail this week. Last night while sitting down with it for a minute, I wondered why I didn't remember any of the articles talked about in the "Letters to the Editor" section. I recognized the cover image. Hmmm.
And then it hit me. Didn't even need to see the ad again. I knew that I'd cast aside the last issue for one simple reason:
That baby should have been mine.
Funny how these chance circumstances throw a sucker punch just when you think you've made it to the other side.
To be fair, I must stress that I have made it. I am okay. It's just that some bruises take a hella long time to properly heal.