My body amazes me. And in this case it’s not necessarily a good thing. I’ve gone from relative calm collectedness to…well..shrew. I’m tired, my head hurts. My breasts have gone from barely B, to heaving bosoms, and back to barely B in the time it takes for me to sweat through my PJs at night (hint, this does not take long). I’ve gone from bodice ripper to doesn’t fill out her bodice at breakneck speed.

It’s taken on the aspect of a devious sort of torture invented by scientists who have nothing better to do than put women of a certain age under a microscope and let them squirm. Maybe that’s why it’s so warm here. No wait I’ve sweated out, so I’m cold, no I’m hot, no wait… Fuck!

I’m not suffering enough from having a face that resembles a bloodhound, nope. I can’t imagine what some women go through. I can’t mention the symptoms I don’t have, since that will certainly trigger a flood of those precise symptoms as payback from the Gods. I need to speak to them about their sense of humor. Yoo Hoo! honestly, it’s not humorous, it’s sadistic.

I think the most heinous of my current plague is the period that has gone on for almost a full month. I’m not talking spotting. I’m talking the full magilla. For the love of God, please make it stop or I might have to hang myself with a tampon cord. How exactly does one go about feeling beautiful when wearing a diaper for a month?

I know I could take the magic hormone pills which would settle some of this down, while helping me have a stroke or breast cancer. No thanks!

I think if I have to wait till 57 to be done I may have to hurt someone.

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