2003-04-21 - 6:41 p.m.
I am woman, hear me whine
Something odd happened to me today. It’s still happening, and it sucks. I’m far, far more anxious than I’ve been in ages. I was formatting a script earlier and I had to fix almost all of the freakin’ tabs, and I nearly started jumping up in my chair. My leg was fidgeting like crazy. I had to type up another script, and my eyes rolled every time the phone rang because I had to get this done and couldn’t afford to waste a second and can’t you people wait?????? Then I forgot to hit the “sort” button on the copier, so I had a stack of 4 copies each of 40 freakin’ pages, and I had to collate them all. I still feel wound up, even though that’s all done. My tasks for the rest of the day? Process some invoices. Talk to legal about a contractor. Prepare a FedEx for my boss which doesn’t have to go downstairs until 6 pm. I should be an oasis of calm in the hectic Monday desert.
But I’m not. I replayed last night in my head, and yeah, I took my pills. I went through the food I ate today, and yeah, I got plenty of protein and sugars and caffeine and such. So why am I so damn antsy?
PMS.
Sing it loud, ladies, because you know how I feel. I have the dreaded beginnings. I’m a little down (coming back to work after two days off for Passover will do that to you), but mostly I’m ready to bounce off the walls.
This sucks. As much as I appreciate being a woman, this part sucks. It’s like G-d’s laughing at me. Look, dude, I didn’t eat the stupid apple! I respect my elders. I’m an adult! I do as I’m told! But I still got stuck with this bitchload of evilness.
When I was on the Pill, my periods were predictable, and so was my PMS. I could tell you what day of the week to the hour when I was getting my period. I didn’t budge from that schedule unless I was involved in a hot, steamy relationship and my hormones were going insane. For four years, I knew exactly when to be prepared; I wore the black pants, I filled my purse with pads, I wore pantyliners. No worries.
But now? Now it likes to creep up on me. I’m never late, and if I’m early it’s only by a day or two, but really. Early morning starts. Late evening starts. Slow starts. Heavy starts. “Oh shit, I’m wearing khakis” starts. That happened last time—I went into the ladies’ room at Disney World and thanked G-d I had enough foresight to carry some supplies with me. I have been lucky; no outward, tell-tale signs since I was about 13, but still. It bugs.
But this is what I must deal with, and I can. The antsiness certainly beats the cramps and the headache and the pain that will come in a few days, but it SUCKS. Royally sucks. I want to go home now and curl up in front of the TV with some cheese. I want to watch Judge Judy. I want to take my phone off the hook and read and take a nap and just sigh at the world. But I can’t. Until I can, I’m going to have to take walks around the floor or something.
Two more hours.
Hell—five more weeks. Five more weeks. Five more weeks.
