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Thursday, Aug. 08, 2002 / 11:41 a.m. ~PMS, a Day Away, TV Substitute, Too Large a Request, and Penises~ My PMS symptoms, a revisiting. First, the large facial skin eruptions. Big pimples in awkward locations. Cheeks. Chin. Forehead. Second, water retention, usually precipitated by salt cravings, usually followed by bloating. Third, intense irritability, closely followed by sensory sensitivity. Extremely sensitive perceptions. Voices are too loud, scents are too strong, lights are too bright. All of it becomes irritating and the reaction is emotional. Next is pain. Lower abdominal, uterine in origin. Breasts swell according to salt intake and retention of water/fluids. And thusly pain ensues. This is all before the bleeding even begins. I�m in the midst. And I�ve forgotten the lethargy, the logy and enervated portions of the program, and the lovely hot flashes. The elevated body temp. Hot, cold, hot, cold, throw off covers at night, toss and turn, pull covers back on. Radiating heat. I�m a human radiator. I love being a woman. Sarcasm much? The cure? Not for being a woman, but for PMS? None. There are salves to put on the wounds. There are temporary methods of relieving what ails. One, Miles Davis� �Kind of Blue�. Perfect. Two, don�t talk to anyone. Sit and stew. Sulk. Indulge in pity parties of one. Key word: Indulge. In cravings. Eat French fries if you crave salt, cheeseburgers, chips, whatever, or if chocolate is your thing, have at it. Don�t deny yourself anything you really want. And if you must cry, make it good. Throw in loud sobs, scare everyone around you, but there should be no one around you during this time, but if there are people or animals there, make sure they�re totally freaked out at your display. In other news, last night I didn�t even turn my computer on. Didn�t even go in the room. Didn�t miss it a bit. It was glorious. Me, piles of Thai takeout, so much I couldn�t eat it all, and TV. �Beat the Geeks� (what an odd show), �E! True Story� (on Martha Stewart � hate these kinds of shows, wherein a still photo is shown again and again, zoomed in upon to mimic actual movement, horrible, gossipy stuff), �Big Brother� (always enjoyable � the relationship between Eric and Lisa is actually sweet, simple, romantic, and I hope they see each other outside the house� and fuck like bunnies), some new-ish show on Food Network, something like �$40 a Day�, wherein Rachel somebody (a woman who cannot stop smiling and saying �Thank you SO much!�) eats food in restaurants, a whole day�s worth of meals, for $40 or under, and doesn�t tip her servers. Rachel was in the Napa Valley on last night�s episode, California�s �Wine Country�, and it looked like fun, her little excursions to different restaurants, wineries, etc. I was there too, years ago with the ex, and all we did was drive around wondering if we should stop somewhere. When traveling with a partner, it�s best if one of you is decisive. All that TV was great. I�ve missed TV. I can sit on the sofa, my hand doesn�t have to be hovering over a mouse, there�s not much clicking involved, I can lie down if I want, I can get up and do things and it�s still going on without me. I don�t have to make it happen� it happens all by itself. And with a million channels there is all kinds of shit from which to choose! All the time! TV is great. Really. (I just found out I get The National Geographic channel � how cool is that?!) Not being online was great too. Not worrying about those stupid children (quite literally actually) on those stupid message boards, especially one �Starshine� or whatever the hell, was SUPREMELY fantastic. Boy, take a day a way and the perspective just floods in, perspective becomes everything. Suddenly logic is easy. No worries at all. Is this another symptom of PMS? Mental Clarity? Thank god. I needed it. I was so carried away, so concerned about the �posters�, the �board members� and when one turned on me it was more than I could take. And this has happened before. I know I am terrible on online message boards. Terrible. People don�t get me. They misinterpret. It gets ugly. The Entertainment Weekly movie boards, the hockey boards (ooo, that was really bad!), now the Moby boards. I�m left with a bad taste, and a small desire to go back and see if anything is being said about me, and that�s the worst part, the post-flame-wars stalking. But I had at least one full day away and I�ll see if I can abandon it completely. Probably not, but I�m weaning myself. In yet other news, earlier I verified employment for someone on the phone, as is my job here at the workplace, and the woman asked for not just my full name, which I HATE giving out, but my middle initial. My fucking MIDDLE INITIAL! I said, verbatim, �I�m NOT giving you my middle initial.� So there. Jesus Christ, what else did she want? My social security number? My mother�s fucking maiden name? Just because I�m the rep who answered her call and verified employment for her? Infuckingsane. 11:04 a.m., cubicle time. I can�t wait to go home and eat my Garlic Pepper Tofu. I only took a taste last night, and this batch is particularly garlicky! Mmmmmm� it�s slightly different every time I order it. Oh, I have Tom Kha Gai, or whatever, too (Chicken Coconut Milk Soup). Damn, I�m hungry just writing about it. �Kind of Blue� is too short. It should last hours and hours. And now I�m going to do a little work, and read my penis book. A Mind of Its Own � A Cultural History of the Penis. It�s getting better and better as it moves through the ages. We�re up to the 1100s now. Juicy stuff. People have been so fucked by religion it�s not even funny. But it�s really pitiful in the case of the poor misunderstood penis. Men? Any men reading this? Men with penises? Trust me, living in 2002 is the best thing that could�ve happened to you. And your penis. Cost of the War in Iraq
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