I love being the female of the species. All the extras are great: Babies! Boobs! Shaving 70% of your body for someone who may or may not look like a yeti! You can guess where this one is going, can't you?
This particular time of the month sucks, and it sucks both on and off toast. The wonderful adventures of bloating, sweating, cramping and hormones! The craving wine and chocolate! Willing to kill anything with a penis for very silly reasons, acne, tender tummy; there are so many reasons to rejoice! Not the least of which is that I feel like something someone squatted behind a tree to produce, with the added benefit of bleeding for a week, give or take.
There should be a song, like Kumbayah or other campfire favorites, that we could get together and sing during this time. I'm thinking something with a catchy title, like "Yes I'm on the rag, so back off before I brain you with the nearest solid object" or "Shut the fuck up, asshole" or even "Why the hell am I crying" and last but not least "Pain and bleeding and bloating and tired and I don't even get a medal?!" I know, the Grammys or whatever the hell award they hand out for songwriting skills? It's just waiting for me.
Tonight I'm going to take a bath, watch a Sopranos with John and go to bed. At a reasonable hour. I get into these funks where I stay up later and later and later, and then I crash hard. I need to stop myself before I get sick, so tonight we're forcibly resetting my clock with Ambien. I should be more cheerful tomorrow.
There's so much I could write about...Dooce, Netflicks, Politics, Food, craft, etc. Instead I'm going to go gnaw on something, drink ginger ale and wait for my kid to get back from Grandma's house. Please oh please let her be in a good mood!