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I've got my period and I'm not in a good mood so I'll keep this short. Why I'm not cutting this? Because, frankly, my dears, I don't feel like it. Skip it if you want, this will be everything you didn't want to know about me rolled into one entry.
As awritersfantasy pointed out earlier, they really should have a mood-icon for PMS-ing. There aren't really any mood-thingies that can accurately describe that feeling of utter murderous rage that will be the pre-stage for a bloodbath of war-sized proportions.
I'm fat. My panties are too small and they roll down my stomach when I sit. My boobs are too big and they don't fit in to the bra anymore. I can't get into pants that needs to be closed with a zipper anymore. I'm like a baby killer-whale. I'm ugly, I look in the mirror and I want to rip the skin off my face. I really honestly want to. I don't have a nice personality. I don't want one. I don't want to be all nice and smily and shiny and happy bouncy and what the fuck other things "normal" people are.
I guess I could buy bigger clothes or go to get my head fixed, but I'm poor. Boo-hoo, poor me. Whine whine, cry cry.
The best thing of all? I could write this in Swedish and it wouldn't be so easy to read for everyone. I could post it in a private entry and no one could ever read it. I could keep from posting it at all. But guess what? I'm a big drama-queen, but I don't want pats on the head. Pats on the head when I'm in this stage just makes me loathe myself even more.
What brought this on? The fact that I thought that I'd get chocolate for a small Christmas present. It wasn't for me and I got cranky. Then the batteries in my CD-player were out like a fucking light and when I waited for the tram there was some disgusting guy staring at me.
There's no way to accurately describe PMS.
I'm going to eat bread with salmon and some salad and then I'm going to cuddle Tweetie till we go to sleep.
As awritersfantasy pointed out earlier, they really should have a mood-icon for PMS-ing. There aren't really any mood-thingies that can accurately describe that feeling of utter murderous rage that will be the pre-stage for a bloodbath of war-sized proportions.
I'm fat. My panties are too small and they roll down my stomach when I sit. My boobs are too big and they don't fit in to the bra anymore. I can't get into pants that needs to be closed with a zipper anymore. I'm like a baby killer-whale. I'm ugly, I look in the mirror and I want to rip the skin off my face. I really honestly want to. I don't have a nice personality. I don't want one. I don't want to be all nice and smily and shiny and happy bouncy and what the fuck other things "normal" people are.
I guess I could buy bigger clothes or go to get my head fixed, but I'm poor. Boo-hoo, poor me. Whine whine, cry cry.
The best thing of all? I could write this in Swedish and it wouldn't be so easy to read for everyone. I could post it in a private entry and no one could ever read it. I could keep from posting it at all. But guess what? I'm a big drama-queen, but I don't want pats on the head. Pats on the head when I'm in this stage just makes me loathe myself even more.
What brought this on? The fact that I thought that I'd get chocolate for a small Christmas present. It wasn't for me and I got cranky. Then the batteries in my CD-player were out like a fucking light and when I waited for the tram there was some disgusting guy staring at me.
There's no way to accurately describe PMS.
I'm going to eat bread with salmon and some salad and then I'm going to cuddle Tweetie till we go to sleep.