Eesh. I’m frickin’ exhausted. I woke up this morning with the intent of going into work ahead of the rest of my staff, so I could pick up a big Box O’Joe and sweets from Dunkin’ Donuts for all of us. Yeah, something about almost falling asleep during dinner last night should have clued me in.

So when the alarm clock went off this morning, I could barely drag myself out of bed. But alas, I managed to do my usual morning routine for a working weekday … for the sixth day in a row.

Nope. Not bitter at all that I had to go in to work today. Not at all.

Except … Well, I really don’t mind working at alternate hours. Truth be told, I do better and manage things better without a constant routine. I like working “alternative” hours instead of the typical 9-to-5, Monday thru Friday -type of day. I’d rather be doing my work on my own schedule; which could be on a Saturday. At 7 o’clock. In the evening. I’m just more productive that way.

Which, when I reflect on my whole “baby-making” years and the minute-by-minute schedule we had to follow, is rather twisted. Especially since I was never ever able to “produce” anything (or rather any ONE) during those active IF treatment years.

And now that I’m finally in a place to understand a little bit more of the real Emily, it all begins to make sense. Why I was *so* miserable during that time; why I felt I had little control over my body, let alone my life.

And it’s all because I absolutely HATE being TIED to a schedule. To a DESK.

Hmm.  Maybe I need to find another line of work … professional beach comber perhaps?

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