Who Am I and Where Did the Real Me Go?

I have no idea what is going on with me today.

Okay, I have some idea. My period is on its way – I think. With me you never really know because it’s always had a mind of its own.  It’s like that real pain-in-the-ass relative that you are powerless to say no to: it comes when it wants, it leaves when it wants, and it likes to make surprise visits when it’s not supposed to be here.  And it makes me grumpy as hell.

Still, I can usually tell when it’s really on the way because I feel the hormonal change occur. Did you ever read The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub?  There’s a character in there named Wolf who accompanies the protagonist Jack on the long journey to retrieve the talisman.  He’s a gentle, simple, and kind creature – until the moon is full.  And as the moon is waxing, he feels himself becoming more cunning, more feral and more hungry.  He feels the change coming, and he is powerless to stop it; the most he can do is warn Jack to lock himself up so that he does not become the hunted, and Wolf only returns to the friendly simple soul you love once the moon is on the wane again and he has completely expended that other energy.

Well, something like that goes on here.  Like Wolf, I’ve learned to identify the twinges of irritability, the snappishness, the sudden urge to cry at the most ridiculous things, as signs of The Descent into Hell, and I’ve learned to warn the Tech Guru about the maelstrom that is about to rock my world (and therefore, his.)  Last night, for instance, I felt so cruddy that I asked him  to stay home from work today.  To do what, God only knows.  Help me with the kids so I wouldn’t eat them?

He said he would if I really needed him to.

I started to cry.

Somehow I was so moved that he actually would stay home – although I already knew this, of  course, or I wouldn’t have asked in the first damn place. And no, he didn’t stay home because I didn’t really need him to, it just felt like it at that moment.  Truth be told, if he’d stayed home I’d probably have made him miserable too, but like Wolf, I’ve learned to try to protect the ones I love so I let him go to work, where at least he’s paid to put up with completely illogical crap.  I’m really not fit to be around humans at this time, which is why I feel sorry for my kids who sort of don’t have a choice about putting up with my hormonal bullshit, which is why they end up with lots of mommy-is-sorry-she’s-so-evil treats like ice cream and new games on the Wii.

So, more of same: a few minutes ago a sudden thunderstorm passed over.  I love thunder, okay? Love it, love it, love it.  There is something so raw and powerful about thunder and lightning, and one of the things I most look forward to about summer is thunderstorms.

And yet, when this thunderstorm emitted a particularly loud and deafening crack, I burst into tears.  Never mind I’m supposed to be comforting the kids, who were scared shitless.  Don’t get me wrong, I hugged them tight – while crying. (Silently, so they wouldn’t hear, because if they had asked what was wrong I would have had zero of an explanation.)

Who am I? And what is my problem?

I’m going to see my GYN on Wednesday and if she says anything about pre-menopausal I’m gonna pop her one, I swear, because that’s the other character I feel like – Wolverine from the X-Men.  Retractable claws, bad attitude, and all.

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