I vacillate between thinking my talk is perfectly fine (maybe not the amazing piece o' genius I dreamed it would be when I was first invited to give it, but probably not the worst talk anyone in the audience will have ever heard--possibly not even the worst talk at the conference, though that's a bit cocky) and being convinced it's a shameful piece of shit that will make everyone avoid eye contact with me for the rest of my short and painful career.
I vacillate between thinking the embryo can't possibly die and thinking it can't possibly live. I remind myself that I'm not bleeding or cramping, and myself reminds me that I don't feel any symptoms other than the eternally sore rack.
I just want it to be next week. But then I think about the fact that next week may rank quite high on the list of worst weeks of my life...and I crawl under my desk. Literally. It's very cozy down there. But then I have to come out to grade stupid papers.
Meanwhile, I was telling Mr. Bunny that you guys had totally reassured me about flying, but that I was still worried about being trapped in some crappy middle seat and having to climb over a stranger in order to walk around. It turns out Mr. Bunny had secretly used his frequent flyer miles to upgrade us to first class! He was planning to surprise me, but figured now was the time for the surprise. He wanted me to be as comfortable as possible during this trying time. It made me feel really loved and cared for.