PRE Menstrual Syndrome, ye old tyme-ey HISTERIA. It used to be I could feel it coming and have time to apologize in advance to my loved ones. After turning 40 all bets were off. You’re all on your own, save yourselves. Go on without me, tell my story.
I actually “suffer” from what the internets call PMDD, Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder. Really? DYSPHORIC? That is quite a fancy word for crazy! There is no jest when I say crying jags of epic proportions are status quo, peppered with fierce, neck hot anger and a level of exhaustion that surpasses the end of any 2 year old’s birthday party. And the older I get the worse it is. I don’t understand... is this is some twisted preparation for menopause that I could absolutely do without?
The other day at work I was telling a story about the time my son Patrick found an extremely nostalgic movie online and totally pirated it for me for Mother’s Day, and in the telling of this I started bawling. The nose dripping, gulping breaths of embarrassment. Why the ACTUAL HELL would I cry over that when literally the event occurred 3 damn years ago? Was it sweet? Yes, in a totally illegal kind of way. My boy child thought enough about what I would love at the last minute and went online and found the 1962 version of The Music Man with Robert Preston and Shirley Jones, downloaded it on to our external hard drive and watched in excitement as I plugged it in and found out what he did for me. It was the most charming thing he had ever done for me, and it marked the beginning of his life when he would consider what someone would appreciate for a gift, instead of a mindless Hallmark greeting card and chocolate. I really valued the thought and the change in him it represented. I just happened to blubber over it 3 years later in front of Jesus and all of my co-workers.
You know that sideways look you give to someone when something juicy is happening but you can’t say anything at the moment because the juicy is right in front of you and you don’t want to interrupt it because you might make it stop in some way and ruin the magic? That eye shit was happening all over the place for a full 5 minutes I will never be able to re-do in time. Legendary work madness, and it’s all me this time. I don’t even have another crazed soul to share the insane burden with.
PMS is ruining my life! Do you know what urbandictionary.com defines PMS as? “A powerful spell that women are put under about once every month, which gives them the strength of an ox, the stability of Windows OS, and the scream of a banshee. Basically, a man’s worst nightmare.” To which is say FUCK YOU URBAN DICTIONARY! It’s a WOMAN’S worst nightmare! Imagine having little to no control over your emotions, or having your emotions so magnified you walk around second guessing what is really happening in your life to make you have all of the feels ever created ever in the world ever! A gal seems pretty much like a total basket case for 1-2 weeks out of the month and the penis who wrote that post is only thinking about himself. What a taint.
What? My period’s not due for another week, why?