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I've been making a conscious effort not to start my sentences with "and" or "but". I tend to do that a lot.
High: Ih. I'm a grump.
Low: Feelin' pms-y.
Work. Work work work, and a March 11th deadline. And another March 29th deadline. And how I'm going to fit those around vacation from March 14-18. Eep.
More like clenching my teeth as I deal with irritating people. Who are no more irritating than usual, my tolerance is just low at the moment.
C is for cookie
it's good enough for me.
Cookie Monster - The Cookie Song!
There were birds.
Storyteller
Bio
Dramatis Personnae
Who I Read
Recipes
February 21, 2002
All I want is a cookie.
WARNING: Girl stuff coming up.
My cycle is effecting (affecting? no....) me in strange ways lately. The only edible thing that appeals to me over the past two days is cookies. Cookies with chocolate in them. Not M-n-M's (still don't know how to make an ampersand in HTML), not a Hershey's bar, not chocolate cake. Cookies. Milano cookies from Pepperidge Farms. Chocolate chip cookies from the AcronymCo cafeteria. I don't want lunch, I want a cookie. Or two. Or possibly ten. Crunchy nibbly sugary goodness.
I can't wrap a thought around anything, or concentrate really at all. I'll find myself blanking out, with my eyes on the face of the person who is talking to me. I seem to have enough brain power left to *look* like I'm paying attention, without actually absorbing anything. I'm a complete space case. And forgetful as all getout.
I am, of course, grouchy. For the past two nights I've concentrated on keeping myself shut away in the bedroom so as not to snap at a poor soul who doesn't deserve it (much). On Tuesday night I finished Harry Potter. Last night I did (half of) my homework. Tonight I shall clean, and also cook, and that should help to exorcise the PMS demons. Because Pamprin doesn't seem to be helping. Or maybe it is, and I'd be an even more raging (raginger?) bitch if I hadn't taken it. I'm not going to go without and find out which it is, for the safety and comfort of my loved ones. And possibly my co-workers.
They've been on the receiving end of this, too. Yesterday a co-worker came to my desk complaining about a company policy that I have no way of changing. After several renditions of "Hey, I just deliver the message", which she ignored and continued on with her complaints, I finally snapped. "Look, Nancy," I said, "Unless you climb up to the top of the totem pole and strangle the bureaucrat who dictated this policy, there's not a damn thing I can do about it." She blinked at me. So I apologized (even though I didn't want to) and said, "Sorry, raging case of PMS." To which she *goggled* at me and said, "You admit it when you have PMS?" I said yes, I do, and she replied, "Well, don't admit that to Calvin or you'll lose all of your power."
Snort. I just let it go. Her poor husband.
I've been stupidly exhausted since Monday evening. I just can't seem to get enough sleep, even though I sleep like the dead as soon as my head hits the pillow - at around 10:00 these nights. I don't want to converse much, and don't want to extend any effort whatsoever. Poor Calvin has been on the receiving end of non-committal grunts and half-hearted attempts at displays of affection. Which he very much deserves (the affection, not the half-heartedness), since he's been unendingly patient with this ridiculousness. Case in point, on Tuesday night we were going to grill stuff on the grill for dinner. We'd mistakenly left the grill on from the last time we used it, and all the propane escaped. So, no gas for grilling. I almost blew that way out of proportion, until he volunteered to go for a fast food run. See, if he had turned to me with some variation of "What are we (meaning I) going to do about dinner now?" I would have flipped right out. So he handled it himself. I really don't deserve him, even though he probably has no idea how close he was to the jaws of death.
Heh.
See, I haven't had to deal with this kind of thing all that much, and am new at recognizing, and therefore dealing with, it. In the past I haven't really been a PMS sufferer at all. Then, I went on The Shot, suffered a whole slew of stupidity, and went back off it again. Since going back off it and onto a different birth control pill prescription, I've dealt with the "typical" symptoms that come with cycle onset. Strangely enough, I don't mind it all that much because it's better than the alternative I used to suffer. So I'm healthy now, just rather uncomfortable to be around for a few days of the month.
Poor Calvin.
I think, though, he appreciates the fact that I fully acknowledge, recognize, and admit when PMS is affecting (effecting? whatthefuckever...) me. It may just *seem* to me that he's going out of his way to be annoying, knowing it'll get a bigger reaction during that time. He's all about getting the reaction. Heh.
It just bugs the crap outta me when a woman insists that "It's not THAT" which is making her a raving bitch, it's the actions of the recipient of the bad mood (follow?). Okay, yes, before I get kicked out of the "We're All Women Together" club, men can sometimes be insensitive and they can sometimes be deserving of bitchiness. But much of the time it's hormones and little else that's causing the angst.
So I am womanfully trying to accept my portion of the responsibility. I have PMS. Hear me roar. And stay the hell outta my way.