I hate hormones...
In case my male f-listers missed this from the title of the post, this is a rant/whine-fest about female troubles. You’ve been warned. This post is tagged “tmi” for a reason.
Are they gone? Good. The cardinal visited me last night. Two weeks early. Which wouldn’t bother me nearly as much if it weren’t for all the nasty side-effects of an unanticipated hormone-dump. Symptom #1: started the day with a fun 35 minutes of projectile-vomiting (should have seen that coming last night when a baked potato without butter was too strong a taste to tolerate). Definitive proof that I’m not pregnant (as if I need proof given my dating-habits) presents itself as if I were. Fun...
Massive quantities of ginger and Alka Seltzer later I’m ready to tackle the bills. Which, naturally, reduce me to tears even though I have money in the bank. Cue a great deal of emo “why the hades don’t you have a job yet, you worthless, ineffectual little shit?” self-recrimination. I’m just getting over that when my sister decides to call me over her lunch for a friendly chat.
“All hands to battle stations! Activate game-face!”
“Shields raised, Captain.”
Went pretty well, too. Managed to convince her that my allergies were playing up and of course I hadn’t been crying. She says that’s good because she worries about me. I assure her that I’m perfectly fine and there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.
“Engine room to the bridge! She kenna’ take much more o’ this!”
“Red Alert! Containment breach immanent! Initiate Emergency Protocol One!” (ie, find the nearest sink or toilet ASAP)
For the record, Pepto tastes worse the second time and ginger just burns. I did manage to make it into the kitchen (sink had dishes in it, of course) but did not manage to get the telephone’s receiver covered. Yeah, that’s a sound a woman needs to hear coming out of her Bluetooth over lunch. Mortifying much?
The house is a mess (and I may have been exaggerating the progress of the unpacking and arranging to my family). I need a new refrigerator (which I was promised would be here three days ago) so I had to disassemble half the living room and kitchen (the two rooms I’d more-or-less finished, naturally) so they’d have room to bring it in. I don’t do chaos and disorder well even when I’m not all hormonal. Routine and well-ordered translates into safe for me. I like safe. The piles of shit in the living room that I can’t put away have me all twitchy and spending a lot of time in my bedroom. Which isn’t entirely unpacked, either, but I’ve got a huge shelving unit just jammed with books (in the proper order; when I lived with other people, my books were always getting out of order which drove me bat guano) and it’s just hugely comforting. (And, yes, I know all of this verges on OCD.)
I could handle spending most of my time in my bedroom until the new fridge comes in and I can fix the rest of the house again, but my sister and cousin invited themselves over on Saturday for movies and Carcassonne (part of their continuing strategy to socialize me in ways not involving a computer). I adore Carcassonne, but them coming over means I have to put the living room and kitchen back together even knowing I’ll probably have to rip it apart again between now and Saturday.
Like the hormones don’t have me sore, tired, and volatile enough already? Oh, yeah, and because I’m retaining an ungodly amount of water, my knee and wrist braces are painfully tight. I’m giving my joints a break now, but will be diving back into the fray before much longer. I hope to have the energy to role-play tonight because Will is pretty amped over the idea of raiding a secret weapons lab with a werewolf, a monster-hunter, and a vampire. To him it sounds like the start to a joke; he hopes that’s a promising sign. But first I need to get a lot more done.
I want nothing more right now than to strangle someone. I’m leaning towards the upstairs neighbor who goes out onto his balcony to smoke about twice an hour. Dude, if you want to poison yourself, you just have fun with that and I’ll be happy to suggest some more effective methods than that for you to try out. But I don’t use the AC and these are the Dog Days. I kinda need to be able to have open windows...
Okay, we now conclude this rant. Except to say that the only thing that sucks worse than having your period is having your period when it’s too hot for a heating pad. *idly wonders if she wants to risk comfort-food given the state of her stomach*