Now I Get It

So, I think I may have hit on the reason I've been feeling so up-and-down these past two days. Before I elaborate on that, any squeamish boys or extremely polite girls, please read on at your own risk. This entry concerns *ahem*, women's troubles.

Okay, now that I'm left with those of you who are less delicately built, I don't have to use euphemisms and metaphors for everything. Basically, PMS has decided that my emotional stability is enemy numero uno, and that it will not rest until I'm alone, in bed, sobbing like a pathetic thirteen-year-old who's just found out Orlando Bloom is engaged. Normally, PMS is not nearly as much of an issue. I'll concede that I probably get a little more emotional than my normal state, but to be honest, I don't even notice it. It definitely doesn't make me feel like this. It's bizarre. I've learned that when I'm like this, being alone is very, very bad. When I'm alone, I mope, and pine, and then write in my journal until I write something that makes me cry, at which point I stop, because my journal is really, really pretty, and the hell am I getting tears on it. And thus beings the cycle. Write, cry, write, cry, etc. That was the first two waking hours of my day today. Bloody PMS. On the bright side, after this is over, I'm totally going to laugh at myself, because...yikes. But for now, PMS is kicking my ass.

I've said it before, but it's especially pertinent right now, so go read The Menstrual Chronicles. Menstrual Girl? That's me. Except without the hapless boyfriend. Or the cat.