I’d win the gold medal in Batshit Crazy Emotional Roller Coaster of Shame.

So that last post was written right in the middle of a fever that ended up lasting for about two weeks. It was the exact opposite of awesome. My body does not respond well to not being able to regulate it’s temperature. I became REALLY irritated and was uncomfortable about 142% of the time (I think most normal people would consider all 24 hours of the day 100% of the time but I don’t include sleep time in my percentage because it’s just a WASTE. A waste of time I refuse to acknowledge except when I’m sick. This time I was uncomfortable EVEN IN MY SLEEP. I wanted to punch sleep in the nose.).

This part is where if you are a man you should probably stop reading.

Trust. You just don’t need to know that women think this way.

And now I’m back two weeks later having pretty much the worst period ever. Don’t worry, I don’t mean that in the gross graphic kind of way because BLECH. I don’t go there because I know when I read about THAT aspect online, I want to punch the offending girl right in the uterus. Seriously, don’t need to hear it. UNFOLLOW!

No, my period is bad in a much worse way. The kind of way that makes a normally sane women turn into a batshit crazy emotional roller coaster of shame. I cried last night because toothpaste fell on my nightgown when I was brushing my teeth. I really wish that was an exaggeration but it’s not. It is my most comfortable nightgown and it’s black so the toothpaste shined bright like the light of a mid day sun. It was a tragic turn of events at the end of a very, very long day at work and not being able to sit down after work till almost 9:00PM and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and snuggle up to Ben and BE DONE WITH THIS DAY ALREADY and that toothpaste was like FUCK YOU, LADY. And I cried. At the sink. With my toothbrush hanging out of my mouth. I managed to pull myself together before Ben walked in a few minutes later and he’s had the privilege of living with me long enough to know to ignore my red, swollen eyes this time of the month.

It’s only when I have the red, swollen eyes AND I’m hyperventilating that he really starts to question me. Or when I have the red, swollen eyes and I’m holding something sharp. Then he looks concerned but generally keeps pretty quiet about it.

The fact that the Olympics are this week means that you’ll probably be able to find me every night on the couch crying like a baby. Crying because people win, crying because people lose, crying because the announcer gives me another piece of useless information WOULD HE JUST SHUT UP ALREADY, crying because a player from a country I’ve never even heard of before has been injured… you get the idea.

I’ll be a mess and it will be awesome because it’s the Olympics.

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