*Warning: Sensitive Male readers do NOT read further.

 Right. So once a month, or rather, every 28 days, to be precise, dammit, I turn into an evil bitch. Well. More of an evil bitch then (pedantic little fuckers.) Once a month, as a blessed member of the gender wo-man, I bleed. A lot. And painfully. But before I bleed, I get hormonal. Unpredictably, inescapably, uncontrollably hormonal. I am literally at the mercy of the rampaging little bastards. I have no sense of humour. I cry. Or bite people’s heads off. Or cry. And I have absolutely no patience whatsoever. None. At all. Capische?

 Usually, I consider myself a fairly rational woman (no oxymoron jokes, morons). Under normal circumstances. Direct. Able to realize that my emotions in any given situation actually have no bearing on the situation itself. Able to dissect a moment for its pure intention, not just what may, might, could, should have been meant by the parties involved.

But not then. When I’m on the rag. Under the curse. Unclean. Getting a visit from the Van Rooiens. Nooo. Then I’m all pathetic over analyzing and moody recalcitrance.

And then, as mentioned, I bleed. Joy. Like a reward for all the rollercoastering. And some internal, clawed beast, rakes his (definitely his) scabrous and ragged claws through my womb. Doubling me up with cramps. Infecting me with teeth-gritting headaches. And generally making me feel like I’m being beaten up from the inside. Pain, people. Genuine, back crackin’ pain. Not just light discomfort, cherubs and sausage pots. Pain. And, for the sake of any delicate man-eyes, who didn’t heed the warning, I won’t even go into the indignities of tampons. How to use them, store them, transport them and dispose of them, in a world which is mostly disinclined to make any of this easy.

All of which I must do with stoic determinism. Or else, some wise crackin’, death wish desperado might ask sneeringly “that time of the month, huh?” Wrong fukin’ time of the month to ask that question, Romeo. Pass me the steak knives.


10 thoughts on “Lunatics

  1. kyknoord says:

    Damn. There’s that perspective thing again.

  2. dolceii says:

    Kyk, that time of the month, and perspective is just something artists use to make things (probably their wives) seem further away.

  3. 302 says:

    Why restrict yourself like that – you can be stoically determined where and when you want, it’s not all patriarchal biology or monthly cycles is it?

    But I do like your rationally progression from lunacy to violent tendandancies…

  4. dolceii says:

    Aaah. Lyrical 302. It ain’t that easy. Certain situations require gravity and focus. Not banshee howling and kung fu fuk you. And I’m not sure how rational that was. More like a spiralling wormhole of madness. Or something.


  5. kyknoord says:

    Indeed, although I was thinking more along the lines of how your visceral narrative allows me to view my rather inconsequential issues through a wider-angle lens.

  6. So Dolce, is oxymorons bad for the time of month?

    And might I ‘ave a word in your shell-like miss?

    Umm – this cosy little twosome chat ‘twixt thee and Kyk about one’s intimates ain’t quite permissable you know! No, err yes we have by-laws for this specific behaviour. Speaking of wormholes in conjunction with womens’ privates down under is liable to cause accidents on the motorway y’know.

    Now I suggest if you wish, you might want to follow the correct procedure to register a complaint. In order that his Almightyness might hear it or be prone to listen to your gripe and reflect some concern, he might consider a redesign of the aforementioned equipment.

    His Almightyness will need some ideas or input as we call it in the trade, as to what form or shape it should take and and indication as to location or placement on your person you would consider having it redesigned and replaced at.

    Meanwhile, keep it quiet as we do not want a run on this service so close to Christmas. If word gets out that you have had your propogation kit, drainage and G spot redesigned and relocated, gawd help us when the swarms of womenfolk decend on us demanding they have the same job done toosweet.

    We will never cope with the demand.


  7. Rox says:

    Dolce hun, I so totally hear you – I was also pondering the Crimson Tide, and thinking how ridiculous is it that not only do we have to suffer so much EVERY darn month, but we also have to be polite about it and act like it’s some mysterious ‘female problem’ and not a fucking PERIOD!

    P.S. You’d think i was riding the tide now the way i feel, but thank god it’s just tiredness and sickness of the non-hormonal type.

  8. dolceii says:

    Kyk > kak, you just didn’t want to fight with me in that state! 😉

    Bert > Dammit, sunshine. I’m in. Where do I sign up? Can I have my girly bits as a removable object – something I can pluck out when annoying etc?

    Crayola > Who you calling a sissy? Wanna take this outside? Huh? Huh?

    Rox > GIRL? Where have you been? How nice to see your lovely visage!! It is ridiculous. And I for one would like to go on strike. NO MORE CRIMSON TIDE!

  9. Rox says:

    I sort of took a breather of sorts, also had no internet for a while at home. Now I have my beloved iBurst and my darling laptop, and you can’t get me offline with a shotgun, lol.

    Yes, down with the tide, we don’t want no tide!

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