Angry.

There I said it.
I'm angry.

Michael is leaving tomorrow for a mission. We found out last night. During German class, at about 8pm.  Which means we had one evening and a day to get ready.
He is spending today running around tying up loose ends. I cleaned our apartment, because well...there's nothing else I can do.
And what's worse? He was volunteered for this. Not that he himself volunteered. Nay. Some brainiac decided "Mike could do it! Michael could fill the slot! Get on the horn with him now and share the joyous news!"
 None of the other 3 guys who are going are married. They didn't want married soldiers to go, I guess since they'd have to pay extra for them. I dunno how this crap works. All I know is they chose my husband because they needed one more person. Or something like that. Nice of them to do?
Tell him he's going, and leaving the in about 29 hours.... then tell him nothing else. Inform me of nothing. Which lets me know exactly how much they 'care' about spouses.

I saw Jill Biden on an AFN commercial. Oh she was talking about the sacrifices of military families, and how wonderful they were. I looked at the TV snarled then said "oh SHUT up, already." Out loud. To the tv.

My surliness is unstoppable.

Anyway, they won't even tell us how long he'll be gone. A month? 2 Months? 6 Months? He was told "It will at least be 30 days but it could be 6 months."

All of this fell right at the time we were REALLY trying to have a baby. I would've started the 100mg of clomid in just a couple weeks.
Now, well...clearly that isn't happening. The prescription is still sticking on our fridge, once a hopeful promise, now it's just a mockery.

All I can think is "So, you mean we won't be having a baby, AND my consolation prize is that I probably WON'T spend the holidays with my husband?  Oh wait, he may be back by St. Patrick's day...but don't hold my breath? Oh whew. Ok, I was worried there for a minute that we'd miss spending mother's day together, since clearly that's a biggie...for us."

I'm angry that my husband is leaving.
I'm angry that I don't know for how long.
I'm angry that other wives in this unit/company whatever it's called don't have to say goodbye to their husbands for some idiotic mission.
I'm angry that I cannot get pregnant.
I'm angry that every person I see has a baby and a couple of children in tow.
I'm angry that we just got the chance to use clomid, and the first round wasn't strong enough, so we missed our chance.
I'm angry that I'm expected to be happy for every fucking person who gets knocked up or just gave birth AND buy them a gift!
I'm angry that it wouldn't be nice to kick a baby carriage. I'm talking hauling off and kicking the shit out of a baby carriage.
I'm angry at people who say 'just adopt' or 'G-d has another plan for you." I want to say "Oh yeah, are you going to foot the bill for our adoption costs???? AND, since when have you personally seen G-d's blueprint/spreadsheet/power point for my life?"
And mostly, I'm angry that I have no particular person to be angry at except myself. I'm the one who is defective. I'm the one who can't reproduce.
I am the failure.

This, my friend, is exactly what Waylon Jennings was singing about when he belted out "Lonesome On'ry & Mean."
So, I am blasting it loud and proud in this apartment, just to treat the neighbors to my hostility.