Saturday, December 10, 2016

5 days late

Will I ever stop crying
My period is five days late. I have pms symptoms and wasn't feeding into the possibility of pregnancy too much, so after I thought of the perfect baby name, and how we'd arrange the kids room, and how my car needs more space, I figured I'd pee on a stick. Then I could start in on the baby registry.

It came back negative which I knew deep down because I have that warm cramping feeling I get before I start. My period is just being a butt head because it wants me to carb load for all of 2017.

After work Tuesday I grocery shopped and had 10 minutes to kill before picking up the kids so I got a bagel and drove around eating it. Ten years ago I held a very firm stance that car-eating is barbaric, impatient, and terrible for digestion, but now I think of it as a mini vacation; quiet, peaceful and delicious times where I can be alone with my thoughts and food.

The night before last I felt like Rosemary's Baby's mama when I cooked up a pound of beef with an onion and began chowing down from the skillet with a 17 inch plastic mixing spoon. Standing over the stove with food dripping from my mouth, I felt like a famished cave woman who just happened upon a dead possum, and the thought entered my mind, perhaps this is more than PMS, and I am with cave child.

If there was ever a movie to avoid in the height of PMS I watched it last night. I had to practice seat clenching self control in the theater watching Manchester By the Sea, and as I went thru ten Starbucks napkins I found in my jacket pocket, wiping snot and tears from my face, I had to swallow a tennis ball of cement in my throat so I wouldn't start wailing in my fit of hysterics. If I knew what the movie was about, I wouldn't have watched it.

Around 3 am I woke up to the gate outside my bedroom being blown open and then crashing into the latch but not catching. It went on for a while, and let me sit and think about The Saddest Movie Ever Made. I found myself crying in bed, at 3am, from this movie. Can I say I was traumatized? I think the only way to treat my condition is by sad-eating a meatball sub.

Sitting in bed and crying about a movie at 3am made me disoriented this morning when I woke. I told my husband, "Kiki has to sleep in, she has her dance recital tonight and needs to be on top of her game."
He said, "It's 7:30," like it was noon, and I rolled over. Then he said, "Don't you have a final this morning?"
I flipped the comforter off me, threw on my clothes, and whisper-yelled, "Goodbye," so I wouldn't wake up my daughter as I ran out of the house.
Now I'm, sitting in front of my class, as they take the final exam I nearly slept through, and started my period without any of my period gear. My morning is is a walk in the park compared to Manchester By The Sea.

Although Manchester By The Sea had a significant impact on me, and can win all the best actor/actress awards, I hope Hell Or High Water wins best movie. That was a fucking great movie. Sing Street is my favorite movie of 2016, but like how The Namesake was robbed in 2007 (Never Forget) I think Sing Street won't get it's due recognition by the Academy (I'm saying that last part in a drawn out nasally voice, The Acaaademy.)

After this test, I'm going to pick up meatball subs, and watch Sing Street.  Then hug my kids for, oh, I don't know, maybe the next 17 hours.

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