On a Silver Fucking Platter

I'm an idiot. Go ahead. I know I am.

Last week, after I got back from the doctor, after knowing I had a three-week break from shots and ultrasounds and appointments and blood work, I said I was hoping to see E or J, or both.

And what did I do? I emailed J and said, "If I were to drive to York, or somewhere in that vicinity for an afternoon, would you make it worth my while? I've got three weeks before I start the next cycle."

York is four hours from me, 45 minutes from him. Could I be making it any easier for him?

He emailed me back, almost immediately. "Very interesting. Let me check my schedule."

I resisted the urge to respond to him. And I've resisted the urge to write back to him this week.

This is it. I promise. If I hear nothing back from him, even to say, tempting as it sounds, I'm too busy....he's cut off. Done. No more stroking his ego. No more texts. No more dirty pictures. No more naughty phone calls.

And you can hold me to it.