Today I will smoke a pack of cigarettes. I will drink the last shot of whatever cheap liquor is leftover from four weeks ago, on a day like today. 

Today, I will yell at my husband for no other reason than that he is present. I will hope he forgives me. That he understands. 

Today, I will plead with God for a bargain. 

Today, I will feel guilty about the anger I harbor for women who are holding a brand new baby, swaddled warmly in their arms. Those women who yesterday were my friends. My friends whose baby showers I attended, smiling, with thoughtful gifts in tow. Today I will hate my friends, these women who are gifts from God that I cherish, for their functional bodies.

Today I will curse an acquaintance that posts to social media about her difficult pregnancy. I will ache to be her. To feel the life being molded inside of me, just once. I will dream of losing sleep. I will cry to hear the constant crying. 

Today I will see beautiful actresses on television and in magazines and instead of being envious of their feministic physiques, I will silently wonder if whether or not under all of the glamour, their ovaries produce eggs capable of being fertilized. 

Today, I will google "infertility support" and close my browser quickly as a colleague walks by. I will hope she didn't see me. That she won't know my struggle.

Today, I will pray. I will pray for my perfect child that has yet to be created. For the barren womb that I wish so vehemently would <a href="https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.glow.android.nurture">nurture</a> a child. 

Tomorrow, I will buy a box of tampons, smile at the cashier, and walk away. 

Tomorrow I will hope. Tomorrow, somehow, my faith will be restored and I will hope today never happens again. 

But today... today I will weep.