Thursday, October 09, 2008

Now with far less volatility

As I sat like Jabba the Hut on my futon last night waiting for the new episode of Project Runway to come, I asked Bill, "So when do I start acting like a bitch?"

With fear in his eye and knowing that my "P" day was imminent, he looked at me quizzically and pretended he couldn't hear me with his headphones on.

I persisted.

Exasperated, he finally jerked the headphones off and said, "Well normally it starts about two weeks after your last period, continues for about a week or so. Then it starts all over again."

Oh no, she's writing about her vagina again!

No, actually I'm writing about my hormones and how they jack my shit up.

It's taken me way too long to figure out that I'm a hormone driven beast. Sometimes, I'm normal, sometimes I'm crazy and sometimes I just mean (and not in a funny way).

And sometimes I'm all of the above.

Those are bad days for everyone involved.

It was really the monthly migraines I used to get that finally pointed a big, shiny, blood-red arrow to the fact that I am, indeed, affected by my period.

And not just with cramps.

In everything.

How I've been able to stay married to a good, decent man for all these years, and be all crazy and mean every month, I'll never know. But I'm sure as heck glad.

Especially now that I seem to have things under control ... somewhat.

I'm still crazy and I still do get the occasional migraine, but for the most part, I'm much more even-tempered these days (but still, I wouldn't push me because you never know when my crazy brain might snap).

I'm taking a drug that I affectionately call my "crazy pill."

And it works. I'm still me only with less nastiness. It rocks ... for the most part.

Since I've started taking my crazy pills, I'm more compassionate. I try to be kind and thoughtful in my daily actions toward my husband and daughter. I want to be with them all the time and tell them how much I love them.

It's like I've turned into a girl or something.

It's weird.

But I'm going with it.

That is until I wake up one day and realize that I've turned into June Cleaver and then I'll probably have to beat the shit out of myself.

But until then, watch me rock the positive attitude.

But don't worry, my sour-casm is still in tack.

Yesterday I answered a question Margaret asked me in a concise and positive manner.

Mar replied, "Mom, why do you always use sour-casm?"

My answer, "Because I love you."

See how it's working!

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