Hormones. I hate them.
Periods are a necessary evil in every woman’s life. What can we do? It’s there. Monthly. Looming dangerously and tauntingly on every lunar cycle.
My time used to be the full moon. Now, for some reason, I’m magically on the waxing half-moon. Which means I got caught by surprise at work. On a Monday. So, yeah, that happened. Nothing horrible, thank goodness. Just “Well, this is five days early. That’s lovely. And fuck you too.”
I never had a cunty-phase, though. I always have a “cuntday” a couple days before my period, sometimes the day before. I generally always have one great “ranting” bog post a month. You do the math.
Sometimes the angry-angry-femme mood breaks like a waving crashing over you on California, right when the period happens. It’s a weird thing. Just, it’s there, then whoosh, it’s suddenly not. Like a Hogwarts class in disapparating.
Men can’t ever understand it, but god knows I hope they do. I’m on a mission that way. It’s doing us both a favour if men ever really start to understand what an utter mindfuck the hormonal yoke of period is. Really.

Let me digress a moment: I hate talking about periods. I won’t EVER tell you about my flow. Women who talk about that shit fucking ANNOY me.
Three things I don’t EVER need to know about with any of you, okay? How you’re pissing, shitting, or flowing. Please. NONE of us needs to know that ABOUT ANYONE. EVER. Ugh. Big pet peeve of mine. B-I-G.

But here’s what I will share.
Today I’m a little grumpy, but mostly I feel emotionally dead. Just… pfft, dead. Nothing’s there. I don’t even have apathy in me. Flat. Except for my mini-emissions rant there, I’ve had nothing to impart on anything, for anyone, today.
Even the weather didn’t want to argue with me. It was grey, flat, and dead like me. I felt like the odd, bleak, desparate landscape in Tim Burton movies like Sleepy Hollow and Sweeney Todd. Occasionally interesting but never emoting.
And I hate this feeling, this place. I do. I want to be outside of it. Tomorrow, I will be. This is entirely hormonal and temporary. And thank god it is. I prefer living my life amped and interested and involved and invested. Not dead, on the peripheries.
I spent a couple months feeling this way a year or two, though. Oh, fun times! See? Hormones, they suck. Except when they’re getting you laid. Then, best-friends-EVAH.
But I know it’ll ebb away tomorrow. That’s what it does. I have a nice day planned. Sun’s on tap, they say. One forecast claims record-breaking warmth. Unlikely. I’m good with “sun” and above zero. As a result, I plan to cycle to work, and I’ve cleared a shorter day to enjoy it.
Because sometimes peace of mind needs to come first. Sometimes the soul needs more attention than your schedule. And you gotta be wise enough to know when those sometimes come round.
Like I do now.
It’s funny. The only thing I have much feeling about right now? The quality of my feeling. I’m angry about feeling what I feel, and I’m optimistic it’s to be short-lived.
It’s strange when your very state of emotion is paradoxical. But welcome to period hormones.