No eggs in this basket

Today while avoiding work I decided to check my email. I typed half of my username before I was interrupted by some work-related annoyance and had to leave my computer for a bit. I returned a little while later, and when I maximised the window again I realised that I'd left the caps lock on earlier and thus I was greeted with a large box which simply read, "BARREN". Oh, aren't the fates cruel? My work PC has always had a vendetta against me, which was first brought to my attention when it spontaneously produced porn pop-ups at the most inopportune times. Many things have gone wrong since, and the IT people tell me it is all down to my "corrupt profile". Oh, the tremendous numbers of jokes that sprout from that diagnosis...That little fucker has it in for me, I know it does. Now it mocks my infertility. That's just the lowest of the low!

When I'm not blaming computers for having it in for me, I'm pointing a finger at the powers that be for orchestrating situations which make me think that life simply must be pre-ordained. I was sitting in the waiting area for my Good Lady Cooter Poker (now featuring Junior Wandmonkey) appointment yesterday, and The Dude and I were forced to spend it with Chav Family from Hell. The fertility waiting area is next to another waiting area of unknown description, and it seems Chav Family from Hell seeped over to my section uninvited. The mother was rocking a Croydon facelift, and Dad was sporting the requisite Burberry hat and tracksuit. Four or five year old Chav Jr was dressed just like Dad, because imitation really is the highest form of flattery.

Chav Jr was climbing all over the chairs, while Mom and Dad looked at gossip magazines and traded such witticisms as, "You fink Jordan is hot, innit? No she ain't!" My fists were clenched when Chav Jr picked up the notebook that is always present on the coffee table in the middle of the room, as it is used for Fertility Clinic patients to document their feelings and success stories. I'm not inclined to write in it, nor do I really want to read it, but I know how valuable it has been for some people that did not have anywhere else to write about what they have gone through/are going through.

Chav Jr manhandled the poor book, then dragged it over to one of the chairs. He flipped through the pages quickly, and started to tear out the first few. I stared at him ferociously for awhile, hoping the little bastard would put it down, or the parents would realise that I was glaring at their precious child, but to no avail. He asked his mother for a pen, at which point I was seriously considering shouting at these people to get some fucking respect for other peoples' feelings, but luckily the kid was told, "No babes, I ain't got none." A few minutes later (and little further damage to the book) they were called for their appointment. At this point the book was just sitting on the floor, a few errant, torn pages slightly sticking out. As they were getting up I walked over to the book and made an exaggerated gesture of picking it up and carefully putting it back on the table. I'm sure they could have cared less about my attempt at a statement, but it made me feel better.

It's times like these that the injustice of infertility gives me another slap in the face. It almost makes me want to give up and side with this visitor to my blog. Yeah, you and me both luv.