So last week I didn’t write any blog posts because my computer broke, but the week before I didn’t write any blog posts because I was too pissed off to write.
And what, you ask, happened to piss me off to such an extent?
Well, now, that’s the fun part. Because nothing happened. Nothing at all. Nada.
Unless you count THAT THING. That thing that happens once a month. That thing that turns me, within seconds, into a stark raving mad specimen of humanity – a walking nutjob.
I’m fine. And then OMG I’M NOT.
That thing that makes me want to punch strangers in the throat for chewing too loudly, cry, scream, and eat all simple carbohydrates in a five-mile radius. That thing that makes me question the meaning of life while weeping at a car commercial and screaming at my kids to please STOP MAKING NOISE. To which they respond “Mama, I’m reading.”
Oh yeah. You know what I’m talking about. They call it “PMS.”
For the record, I think that is the stupidest name IN THE WORLD for such a thing.
I have some better ones. More descriptive. Accurate.
Such as: “Pissed off, Maniacal and Starving” or “Pending Marital Separation” or “Psychotic, Melodramatic, and Seething,” or “Pardon My Satanic-nature.” Those are just some ideas.
You think I’m kidding? You think I’m exaggerating? I’m not.
“Pre-menstrual Syndrome…” Bullshit. That sounds so innocuous, like it ain’t that big of a deal. Well I’m here to speak for those of us women who TURN INTO MONSTERS for a few days each month and pretty much have no capacity to change it. I’m always slightly amazed my husband hasn’t left me after that “special time.”
Men, listen up. This shit applies to you too.
At any rate, check it out: once a month, about a week before my period, I’m sitting there minding my own business when all the sudden, out of freaking nowhere, drifts into my reality a dark, cold haze. It enters every cell of my skin, right through to my bones. I feel it sinking in, a discomfort. An irritation. Like a fly buzzing just outside my ear. I feel it course through my veins. An anxiety. An angst. And I want to break things.
When it hits my ears they become more sensitive. When it hits my brain it becomes confused, scattered, anxious. When it hits my eyes they begin to only see the shit that annoys me. They see only negative.
And when it hits my heart, my heart gets heavy. It becomes a thousand pounds. My emotions burst from it in quick flashes of pain and agony and existential contemplation. What IS the meaning of life? Why AM I here? WHY do I yell at my kids so much?
But mostly…WHY IS MY HUSBAND SO FUCKING ANNOYING?
Why am I married in the first place?
Why did I ever get married?
Why do I have kids? Do I like my kids? Why am I so fat? I wish I were 20. Why aren’t I 20?
I need a scone.
And always there’s that FLY. It’s buzzing. It won’t shut up. It MUST SHUT UP.
It’s never shutting up.
It’s here. “People Must Surrender,” because I’m fucking insane. For a few days, I am insane. Women who get PMS like me should get a break from their lives. We should get a handicapped parking spot. We should get special pills and massages and a camp or something with nothing but silent people, trees and hot tubs.
Why? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because once a month:
- I am not responsible for the shit that comes out of my mouth. I don’t even know who the fuck is saying it but I KNOW IT AIN’T ME. That bitch is crazy.
- I am not responsible for the shit I put into my mouth (which makes me not responsible for the stuff going in or out of my mouth, which is slightly alarming).
- I want to crawl in a hole and weep and die, though it’s unclear to me exactly why.
- I cannot recall why anything in my life is the way it is and I’m pretty sure it’s ALL WRONG. (But there’s nothing you can do to fix it so don’t even try because it’s never getting better and that’s just the way it is you fucktard.)
- I am no use to my husband (because it’s all his fault).
- I am no use to my children (because they’re so irritating I can’t spend more than 5 minutes near them).
- I am no use to my boss (because it’s hard to think when you suddenly realize your life isn’t worth living).
- I am no use in class (because my neighbor’s face is irritating me somehow).
- I am bloated. And nobody likes that. But I can’t drink water or get to the gym or do anything other than eat simple carbohydrates and sugar and caffeine because I’m comforting myself with food and beverage even though I’m going to regret it and I’m getting fatter by the fucking minute but OMG there’s that FLY and it WON’T STOP BUZZING PEOPLE.
Dude. No really. Let’s start a PMS camp.
Some medical site describes the emotional PMS symptoms as follows: “tension, irritability, mood swings or crying spells, anxiety, depression.”
I can summarize this in everyday language, and it pretty much summarizes my whole PMS experience, played out repeatedly, day after day, until suddenly, as fast as it came…it’s gone.
“Fuck you you irritate me please don’t leave me ever my GOD why are you so annoying no wait I’m sorry I’m such a bitch I want to move to Borneo forever oh my god I’m hungry.”
It’s good to be back. In more ways than one.