Before today I have never known how bad some women might have it when it comes to that particular less-than-magical time of the month.

Men often snort at things like PMS, saying it’s just an excuse we women use to be angry or, as the more common word is, bitchy. Pre-Menstrual Syndrome is something I’ve never particularly encountered myself. I don’t get cranky or out of sorts before it happens, but I’m not going to say some women don’t have that problem because I’m sure they do. No woman is the same as the other, so to say we make some of this stuff up (granted, I don’t think PMDD is real, or at least, wasn’t until someone decided it should be – more pills to push and $$ to get) will annoy many women. Frankly, I always want to slap any guy in the face who says, “What’s wrong? PMSing?” when I’m cranky one day for the simple fact that I have never in my life used PMS as an excuse to be bitchy or emotional, especially since I’ve never had it.

But today, and as much as I’m sure all of you want to know this, I’ve been struck down with the worst cramps in the history of my life. No joke. I mean, come on, all of us girls have probably had some shitty God-this-sucks cramps, but this was a whole new deal for me. Guys, you wouldn’t understand just how much our uterus can fuck us up, and I won’t go into details, suffice to say that I couldn’t even eat a whole lunch without thinking I might upchuck it back into existence, thinking maybe I was actually sick with something and had a fever due to body temperature changes, and essentially bedridden from the time I showered (maybe 10 or 11) until a little after 2pm. After my so-called lunch I crawled under the covers praying for sleep in order to avoid the very unhappy knotting of muscles and wake up when it was over (which thankfully happened). I’d taken 3 Advil when normally just 1 or 2 will suffice. Normally I go about my day and people are none the wiser, even if the cramps are somewhat ugly (I went car shopping for my current car – so glad Nick had heated seats).

Usually things are good to go after the first mean day. Guys don’t like to talk about it, or hear about it, something I find a bit interesting. Perhaps the idea ruins their image of us in some manner. They like to pretend it doesn’t exist or at least ignore it as much as possible. Not so say that we wouldn’t like to do that either, but we aren’t quite able and it would be for completely different reasons. Guys freak out and say it’s gross. Well I guess it is, but it’s still a natural part of us so you might as well get used to it. Basically just our body’s way of saying, “No baby this time around!” (hah, thank God – no offence to you moms out there). I still like my sister’s saying because it’s quite true. Even if we don’t get all wiggy from PMS, we can still be wiggy during those 5-7 days dealing with this annoying crap:

“If you bled for 7 days straight and didn’t die, you’d go nuts too.”

I know, this has nothing to do with moving, I doubt stress was involved with making things worse because I haven’t really been stressing (quite the opposite as I’ve found some music to assuage me). Yes, The Moving Story is in the middle of being written, though it isn’t all that magical except for the part about one car blowing up (“What?!” you say? Yes, but we’ll get to that soon) as well as the actual house itself. Maybe if we have spare film on dad’s camera I’ll take some pictures of my room and the non-shitty parts of the house so you guys can see what it looks like.

Right now I’m going to go find dad’s stethoscope and see if those really are carpenter ants in Ashley’s wall scrabbling around, or if they’re wood bees. (I have my money on the ants – I think that guy doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about).

Oh yeah, and by the way...

House centipedes are fucking creepy.
1 Response
  1. Derek Says:

    This whole entry? Pretty gross.