Bladder – is pissed. Is having no more of this scrunched up, crowded abdomen. Is making me pay with multiple trips to the bathroom and vague symptoms of a UTI. Ovaries are being overbearing and Bladder is so over it.
Ovaries – planning hostile takeover. Are strong and mighty from the fertility drugs, and are revolting in what can only be compared to a roid rage. Are in cahoots with Bladder but negotiations are at a standstill (Ovaries are trying to steal all the glory, obviously). Thinks Bladder is a pansy ass.
Ass – Hurts. Is big. Has prick-marks all over. Is threatening to bruise. Wonders why someone hit me in ass with a baseball bat, but the realizes that it is from the PIO Shots. Considers joining the Bladder and Ovaries in their mission to FUCK JEN UP!
Stomach – is sick of all of these drugs. Is churning at smells, but strangely wanted to suck Grey Poupon directly out of the little foil packet in my sandwich kit. Now producing Grey Poupon burps every 5 minutes (is not so bad, actually).
Face – is ugly. Has morphed into pizza-faced teenage boyface in the past week. Beginning to bear an odd resemblance to Gary Busey.
Bewbies – Ouch. And veiny. That is all.
Brain – finds this post to be lame. And thinks that maybe I should be studying for my accounting test, while at the same time refusing to retain any additional information like a baby refusing to take a spoon full of pureed carrots.
The only reason my back isn't on here as an enemy of the state is because guess what I found out today? That my car seat as LUMBAR SUPPORT! My fucking god. In my defense, I've only had the car since December. But still I probably should've realized sooner because I've had the car since December.