Monday, February 21, 2011
John Lennon - Woman
Every month, all the time, since I was twelve, I am afraid to go out in the world amidst my own body and its chemical undertakings. Known as Premenstrual Syndrome, existing within this recurring loop of delusional misery is somewhat fascinating. In a dreary kind of way. All day a hum of unspent ranting and irritable musings bubbled along my veins, surging through me as the hormones also began to attack my sense of depth. I broke a jar of gooey stuff, squished a weird part of my arm into a welt, tripped on the sidewalk. I felt alternately weepy and enraged with not a whole lot in the middle. Some forced smiles, a battalion of gratitude practice, a dull desire to earn my way out of my own chemistry.
It's such bullshit.
Someone want my uterus already?
Because I'm really not using it for any good over here.