Wednesday, April 12, 2006

insanity sans sangre

I really hate to admit this. Because I hate to have my reactions discounted and chalked up to hormones, but truth is truth...today my hormones had a slapfest with me.

I was lulled into a false sense of security that without the monthly egg drop and its endocrine magic/madness, I would be lounging safely on a placid shore opposite Mt. PMS. Well, just switch the pre with post. I know, I know, many women still cycle without the bloody mess. Guess I'd had a mini sabbatical and forgot.

Goddammit I can preamble the fuck out of a subject.

Okay, so today I was hostile, hungry and hypersensitive. Put that together with that vague feeling of physical discomfort and bingo, I was cycling without any proof of purchase.

Describing what this is like to men is a little hobby of mine. I like trying to find an analogy that makes sense even though the quest is probably asymptotic: you may never get there but you might get damned close.

When a person has a migraine or a hangover (or both) they can become hyper aware of light, sounds and jarring movement. When I had/have a visit from my surging hormonal system, I become hypersensitized to morons. The sound and drivel of irritating people (that I usually try to ignore) suddenly becomes DEAFENING. I pray for a slugfest so I can join in the fray and work out some of this quite stunning hostility.

When the desire to pop someone recedes, I'm left with a surly feeling of isolation. Another lovely and pleasant incarnation. Throughout this little exercise is the pervasive and overwhelming urge to eat...like an earthworm through soil. If you saw me you would think that's how I achieved such impressive, some might say awe-inspiring, rubenesqueness. But you would be wrong. On a normal day (as opposed to this mock/stealth/pseudo pre-period crapulence) I'm content with my bowl of soup and diet coke at lunch. At most, I indulge in an afternoon snack bag of pretzels. Not so today. No. Pity the carbohydrate-protein-sugar-fat that wanders unknowingly into my path.

So that's the way it was. My reaction to life may be more controlled without the estrogen shot (like tequila only more...homicidal) but nowhere near as honest. I told my good friend Dave that he would know I was leaving the building when the whistled sound of "the sun will come out tomorrow" wafted over to his office from the stairwell.

Which reminds me...the last player in the Hostile-Hungry-Hypersensitive foursome is Sarcasm. It ruins the alliteration but knows no better name. Slicing, dripping, sharp-tongued Sarcasm. And you should hear all the things that I filter out. Scathing shit that never sees the light of day. I hold the worst of it back because I'm just that fucking sensitive.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

This too will pass in about a year. Hope you can make it that long without committing a homicide.

Epiphenita said...

Well, I've made it from 14 to 47 without becoming a felon, so I suppose I can get through this round.

Nini's sistuh said...

All that fucking sensitivity is probably what's aggravating your ulcers. Just let it go, Nita! (Don't you ever wonder why I'm so healthy?) So, maybe less people will be prone to gravitate towards you...most of them are stupid anyway. And isn't it the stupid people that got all this started in the first place?

Dave said...

Don't you mean "Well, I've made it from 14 to 47 without becoming a CONVICTED felon"?

I know, I know, it's splitting hairs, but that's the legal system for you.

Anyhow, thank you for rating me in the "good" friend status and not the "friend I will call in the middle of the night because my toilet's backed up and I can't find my plunger" status.

I appreciate that.

-Dave

Epiphenita said...

Shhh, the children don't like to think that momma is here but for the grace of a hung jury.

But you are my good friend precisely because I CAN call you at midnight...except, of course, I fix my own plumbing. However, I'm often stymied by that whole blue-tooth thing in the middle of the night...