Scatter Joy

So, back again am I. I feel as if I have travelled all over the globe reading other people's blogs and now I am back to the bare white page before me with rambling thoughts to share.

Yes, I'm still waiting to ovulate. Obviously the last ovulation didn't go so well. How I wish I had a view into that adventure going on in my ovaries and fallopian tubes. Imagine this: egg dramatically bursts forth from shell and there, aha, are millions of eager sperm waiting to attack. But, alas, the egg pulls out its stick of cryptonite and whoila, the sperm are slayed right and left as the egg makes it solitary way down the fallopian tube and quietly into the uterus. There, it whithers in a very undramatic fashion while I sit around anaylyzing every sniffle to see whether or not it is a pregnancy symptom. Hmmmph.

I can't believe I am actually here or writing all of this. I am reminded of a dear friend once who thought the cure to my ills would be journaling. Just how depressing is it to pour out one's soul onto the paper to know that (1) no one will ever read it; (2) if they do, you'll be mortified; (3) that you are thinking the same thing now as when you jotted down this note...no progress has been made, just the same old blah. Now, I know that is not a healthy way to approach journaling. And, for you avid journalers, no offense intended. I guess there is something quietly or inherently interactive about blogging that helps me get past the journaling hump.

So, raise your hand all of you sitting out there reading this on your lunch hour (or, heck, during your working hours!) Perhaps this is my way to scatter joy as Emerson once suggested we do. I can't think of anything better at the moment, so what the hell? I can't decide if it is an honor to have this much free time on my hands during the workday, or if I should really be doing something to reach my potential, whatever that might be. I guess I could be researching and trying to make something of this expensive liberal arts education. However, as soon as I get my pen to the paper, or my eyes fixated on some scholarly journal, I start wondering what it will be like to hold my child, when he or she gets here that is.

Me, impatient? Noooo, I'm just your average Taurus who wants what I want when I want it. Why does that have to be so difficult?