Warning this blog contains adult language.
I say fuck and some other rather colorful words.
I'm in a mood, so be forewarned.
Bad news on any given day can be unsettling. Bad news on a menopausal mood-swinging day can be simply too much to endure; at least it can feel that way for a moment or two. I’m not enjoying this at all, these waves of hormonal modifications. Today, I was driving, when I felt it coming. I said, “I’m having a bad day,” and then tears just trickled down my cheeks. Deb asked what was wrong and I said, and I quote,
“I don’t fucking know. Just find me a damn tissue.” My hairdresser asked what was wrong when I arrived red-eyed. I told her much the same thing. She told me I needed to go out in the yard, lie down, and re-center myself with nature.
I’d like to tell Mother Nature to fuck off. This shutting down of thechild bearing mechanism should be a much more agreeable process. I mean, I gave once a month like clockwork to Mother Nature’s cause, except for that one nine month stretch. I deserve some type of easy-out payoff in the end. Still, most of the time, with the aid of natural supplements, I’m managing to keep the emotional roller-coaster from leaving the barn. But some days—bad news is the last thing I want to hear.
|Sorry, wrong door.|
|Friend or Foe?|