Well, I can now. I have to. The problem with a journal online is that when something horrible happens, I would rather crawl into a little hole and be alone in my misery. When I started this whole thing, though, I told myself that no matter what, no matter who was reading, I was going to be honest, because I'm doing this for me. So I'm going to make myself be open, and I'm going to make myself confess all these nasty, nasty thoughts going through my head right now, and I'm going to do it no matter how I feel about it because I know that it's not healthy to keep this bottled up.

I feel useless. More than that, I feel angry about feeling useless, but I can't stop feeling either way. For the first part of every month, I watch with satisfaction as my body does just what it's supposed to be doing, and I make plans. I take my husband to bed, not simply because I love him, but because my body is telling me "It's now or never." So whether or not he feels inclined, whether or not I feel inclined, we do the deed. It was my understanding, at the start of this whole thing, that obedience to these signals would be rewarded shortly thereafter. I feel taken and betrayed.

Do you know that when I started this whole game, I felt a little guilty and a little mean? I stupidly assumed that, while other women might have difficulties in conceiving, I, who knew the rules by heart, would have no problems whatsoever. I was worried that the ease with which I would find myself with child might hurt someone who had no such good fortune. How self-centered could I get? Perhaps this is the reward; perhaps this is my arrogance coming back to bite me in the rear.

One of the worst parts of this whole thing is that, strictly speaking, I don't even have a right to feel upset! There are countless women everywhere who have been at this a heck of a lot longer than three months; they are the ones who have the right to discouragement. Me? I'm ovulating normally, which is more than some can say, and I'm producing fertile quality fluids. No doctor would even consider taking extra measures with me at this point. I shouldn't feel disillusioned or angry; I should just hop back in the saddle and try again. This makes me even angrier; why should I feel guilty about being angry? Why should I be making myself feel that guilt?

I've been crying. Stupid of me to cry over something so "silly," but I have been. I cried when I saw my temp had dropped. I cried last night when I tested negative. I was on the phone with my mother at the time, and she was worrying about her thyroidectomy, which is today; I was hoping, on the spur of the moment, for some good news which might carry her through the night. I didn't tell her what I was doing, and I got off the phone before the real waterworks could start. I cried when the bloody witch showed her face this morning, and again when I couldn't get Eric on the phone to tell him she was here.

Now I'm sitting in my library office, trying to compose myself before I have to go upstairs to work. It's going to be a very, very hard day.

By the way, I just want to say thanks, Piper. She sent me an email trying to put a more positive spin on yesterday's fortune cookie message. It was a very nice thought; too bad it turned out to be wrong in the end.