Ich bin frei! Or something. I only learned how (poorly) to translate German into (bad) English, not produce it. Still, the spirit of the above utterance holds, however garbled it may have come out, and I declare today a half holiday in honor of taking (and maybe even passing!) my translation exam this morning and fulfilling one more requirement en route to the doctorate.
Said holiday has thus far consisted of: walking to the Union Square Greenmarket to clear my head of German fumes; picking up baby shower cards and gifts; and eating guacamole and hummus. In an hour or so I have to head back into Manhattan for my therapy appointment and then on to dinner with Clueless Preggo (for whom I picked up said card and gifts).
I was so focused on my exam over the past week that I didn't have time or mental energy to worry about tonight's dinner. And since the exam ended I've been focusing on getting just the right card and wrapping the gifts with just the right paper to keep from worrying about how much we'll talk about the baby, how long I'll be able to keep up a bright and interested facade, how much she'll ask me about our baby-making efforts, and how little (for what ever reasons I don't care to examine too closely right now) I want to share about the last couple of months of shit and sadness.
It will be fine, I know it will be fine. And it may also be frustrating and upsetting and depressing (or--here's a crazy thought-- maybe even fun). It will be what it will be, and since I've decided I'm going through with it, I'd rather not think about it too much beforehand.
I have more important matters on which to dwell, anyway. Like pondering the best way to eviscerate the card designer who came up with this gem I encountered at the card shop a few hours ago:
Seriously, barf, right? Just what smug pregnant ladies need, encouragement for their vile self-absorption in printed-, folded-paper form. Do you think anyone would mind if I torched the store tonight?
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