Sigh...

This was in my inbox this morning....


Psssssst... Not that you ever would, Ingenue, but when someone tells their best friend about their difficult day, or how tricky relationships have been, or that they have a jolly good life in most regards except financially, not only do they relive the unpleasantness, but they commission all the elements to project into their future whatever they've been claiming. Besides, you'd never say, "jolly."
Better to whisper sweet nothings - The Universe

I understand Universe. Believe me I do. I've been trying very hard, very hard not to bitch and moan today and so far I've been succeeding. I've been bravely sitting here, alone with my menstrual cramps, sober as a judge, and cheerfully silent.

WHAT THE ALMIGHTY FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH THE MEN I WORK WITH?!?!?! I don't think I'm the only woman in the world who wants a little bit of serenity in her work environment. And given the ominous time of the month we find ourselves in, YOU WOULD THINK THEY VALUE THEIR LIVES A LITTLE MORE THAN THAT. Why would they want to make me crazy? What the hell are they playing at? This is one wisecrack away from becoming a BLOODBATH. No pun intended. Eeeeeew. I just grossed myself out.

In case you hadn't noticed my hormones are owning me at the moment. I feel altered, distorted, amped, and somehow muted all at once. I don't have any practical reason to be whiny, but my emotions are finding fault with everything on God's green earth right now.

Also I'm realizing that although I only have like 87 days sober, I've managed to have 4 periods in my sobriety. Not freaking cool! I must have been half crazed by the lethal hangover/hormone combination when I dragged my ass into Perry Street for the first time. If only I knew then how unfortunate my sense of timing would be, I'd have kept drinking for another week. 4 x 28 days is....why the bleep is this happening to me?

It's not that horrible, I know . I mean, I'm not over here surviving endometriosis or anything. Fine, invalidate my pain, see if I care! You can suck it, naysayers, because I am here to tell you, sober menstruation can sit and spin. This shit blows pureed broccoli chunks and I will scream it from the heavens. It'd be one thing if I could tuck myself away in meetings and zen meditation, gliding back and forth between my yoga mat and my lavender scented bed. Instead I find myself trapped on a construction site with testosterone juiced men jumping around and my defenses are weak! I can't even steel my nerves with a vodka or six! I am in recovery damn you! DAMN YOUSE ALL TO HECK!

I just, I can't. I just can't. My pms bitchy vibes are scaring everyone off and I am in turn recoiling from the preemptive rejection I keep encountering. I am sensitive, I am bloated, and I am not even allowed to take Midol (wouldn't want to if I could, trying to keep au natural, aren't I?). I want to go home and hide under my covers and cry. In fact, after I go to my 6:00 meeting and share about wanting to go home crawl under my covers and cry, I think I'll do exactly that. Maybe some sort of a sobbing candle lit yoga practice. I don't know. I feel beastly, oogly, unwanted, and all manners of downtrodden.

Three more days, (DEAR GOD) only three more days. Sigh.

Yours in perpetual abdominal soreness,
Ingenue