Tick tock tick tock

Wednesday

06.30: Wake to text from friend announcing birth of second child.

06.31: Run to bathroom and retch violently in hideous parody of morning sickness.

07.00: Stand naked in front of mirror. Decide that it is a travesty of justice to have stretchmarks like mine with no child to show for it.

08.30: Stumble to the library, mourning reproductive inadequacy.

11.30: Edit chapter on woman dying in childbirth. Kill her off.

13.30: Go to post office to buy baby card. Wonder why they all have to be:
(a) Pastel coloured
(b) Dotted with exclamation marks
(c) Gender specific

15.30: Smoke fag because it’s harming NO ONE BUT MYSELF.

17.30: Telephone conversation with 7 months pregnant sister
Me: Hello. Do your tits hurt and are your ankles swollen?
Sister: Er, yes.
Me: Good.

20.00: Go to see Lorca play about woman driven to madness because of inability to conceive.

22.00: Play ends with woman strangling husband. Cheer.

22.15: Go to theatre bar with fellow barren spinsters and drink copious quantities of gin.

23.00: Stumble home. Smoke fag for similar reasons as 15:30. Retch.