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Wednesday, Jul. 02, 2003 / 1:31 p.m. ~It Always Comes Around Again~ As late as Monday I still had no psychological symptoms, no hormonally induced emotional outbursts, nothing, and it made no sense. 28 days, like clockwork, I can count forward from the last time, so it was time, I was due. And not even making it happen, no mind over matter, no control at all, it hit me, yesterday. I came in to work and was telling Kukla and Penelope I dreamed about our errant Supervisor, the one we've just been told will not return until after August at least, and Q jumped in, interrupting, told me she priced the teeth whitening strips we'd been discussing the previous day, whilst Kukla proceeded to go on about how she doesn't remember her dreams, and tell me that because I dreamed of our Supervisor it must mean I miss her, then Q went on about the strips, and suddenly it was this four way, cubicle to cubicle conversation that was instantly irritating. This was first thing, first thing in the morning, post shower and coffee, post drive on Interstate, pre Windows NT log on. I was fuming. Why? And today we had a little meeting, during which Penelope brought up a concern I had yesterday, one I said I would not 'bring to the floor', as it was petty, and minor, and would not be well received. And it wasn't, well received, it was a bone, of contention, and to pick upon, and after all that Q came to explain herself, in her usual overly defensive manner, and I told her she was being defensive, again, and it wasn't about her, and she really, really needs to work on that. And she went away, and I sat here, and I hated the world and felt like I could start crying. Why? On the way to work I had the cramps too, and the ache in the lower back, so now it's physical too, and the breasts that seem huge, though I'm barely big enough to fill out a bra of any size, and I seldom wear one, so who would even know, and why would anyone care, they just hang, they're so useless. They're to provide milk, and I am not even of the wet nurse variety, no point at all. Them, and the vagina, pointless. Yes, it's just the pre menses portion of the program, and the irritability, the sensitivity to every sound, every laugh and shout and radio tuned too loud, every little thing is like sand in a bathing suit, just grating the skin underneath. Rubbing and chafing every second, and I can shift and shake and it won't matter. I felt it last night as well, looking at the mess in my closet, or the mildew accumulating in some grand scientific experimental display in the bathroom sink, disgusted with myself and my slovenly habits, sitting to watch television so I wouldn't have to think about any of it. Then seeing the G cat just sit, looking like she was bored with her life, same thing, looking to me for everything, and me not providing a thing besides food and water, well, I made a lap and she sat there later, and it was quality time. Still, today, the noises, the one with the constantly flapping gums, the machines that sporadically make their man made cacophanies, irritants all, and the eyelashes that stick together with every blink, for no known reason, and the phone calls, all misdirected ("They gave me YOUR number!", "Yes, they do that�"), and the mad, mad desire to simply flee. Just pull my hair and scream, and then run with every ounce of energy I have left, as far away as possible. Instead I stay, I sit, I listen to the gum flapper sing her warbles, and think someone must tell her she cannot sing, at some point, someone must be kind enough to be honest with her. And I answer each call as I'm accustomed, and treat everyone respectfully, do my job, eat fruit that Jane gives me, and I know it will be over soon. Cost of the War in Iraq
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