As a woman, one would think that I would be able to detect the onset of PMS due to a simple calendar, or even by how many pills are left in my child-prevention kit. Nope, I never really consciously pay attention to it. I know when PMS has arrived on my doorstep because I welcome it with tears. Oh boy do I cry and sometimes for days. It can be something simple like finding out I don’t have any peanut butter left in the cupboard for toast or something even more serious, like realizing I didn’t walk Dawson two mornings in a row.
Well, not this month. Why hello there rage, where the hell did you come from? It started Tuesday and has built up to the point of me literally yelling on the phone, in my cubicle at work, to the ignorant, hill-billy that runs my parking spot at work (yes, even typing that felt good). It feels like everything this week is going wrong and is completely senseless (legal disclaimer: this blog entry might be swayed by dramatization). Don’t worry, I have enough self-awareness to know that, yes, in the grand scheme of things in life, most of the shit I’ve been dealing with this week is peanuts. And I agree, the thickness of my PMS goggles just might be distorting the colours coming through the lenses. I totally get that it’s temporary and will work itself out. But when you’re in the middle of it and pre-menstral hormones are oozing through your veins it’s plain ugly. I’m mad and feeling mean.
Thankfully, I feel that the rage may have just climaxed moments ago to an all time high, which oddly enough I’ve resolved by breaking down in tears.
OK, now I’m done. Moving on to next month…