Frustrated

Grrr. Not only am I missing Jasper Fforde at the Book Festival, but I'm feeling generally disgruntled all round.

I feel sick for about the 100th day in a row. I hurt. I am sick of being female and fertile.
Except I have no wish to cease to be either, I just wish it hurt less.

The children are tired and fractious and both parents are too tired and fractious to do anything about this. Taking them to a run-about-and-tire-yourself-out-while-we-sit-and-do-nothing place is out when they're too tired, it becomes a trial. We are shortly going to go and do some mystery shopping in the joy that is Glenrothes. Happy times.

Tonight we go to see Bill Bailey, he will cure my inertia and give me something to think about.