Dear PMS


Dear PMS,

I haven’t missed you. Please stop stalking me and making my life (and my dear husband’s) miserable.  Every time you piss me off, I will take herbs. I will drink so much goddamned herbal tea that you won’t even recognize my (poullted, decrepit, incompetent) ThunderWomb ™.  I’ll take your “bloating and irritability” and raise you several  “ridiculously healthy coping skills,” “acerbic refusal to take ‘no’ for an answer”, and one or two “inappropriate Marilyn Manson songs on my iPod.”

Also, PMS, just because I’ve forgotten what the hell I was talking about, it doesn’t mean we are friends, and that this is going to become a regular thing again. Go away. I didn’t miss you for 4 months.  I hadn’t seen you since … what, April? March?  It was glorious without you. All of those pregnant people who complain about pregnancy symptoms?  Screw ’em. Pregnancy was a breeze compared to you. Even the miscarriage was fine. I’ll take 9 months of pregnancy and 24 hours of labor any day.  At least that has a positive result. You, PMS, just make me want to eat a lot and yell at undeserving people. (Note: The rest of the month, those other people are TOTALLY deserving.)

Taking fists full (fist fulls?) of Vitex and St Johns Wort and drinking vats of decaf green tea are not signs that I’ve missed you. I did miss my herbs (Precious, precious pharmaceuticals… pet… pet….)…  What? No. I don’t have a problem. Piss off. Can’t you people see I’m irritable? Christ, maybe I will start back on fertility drugs sooner rather than later… I’m one of the freaks that feels better on the drugs. It’s a breeze compared to this hormone-induced psychosis.


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