My Saturday mornings usually consist of music playing, cleaning,laundry, and probably cooking. My Saturday nights fall into a lazy daze with movies and junk to end off the festivities earlier in the day. I spend the first five minutes of the night in my ritual which consists of, picking what genre I feel to watch, which actors I wish to see, what plot I feel the need to examine and criticize, etc.
But it’s half past 5 o’clock and you know what I’m doing? Sitting behind my computer screen trying not to fall asleep after waking up 3 hours earlier. Why? My period, ladies and gentleman. Round of applause.
Now if you’re anything like me in even the slightest, then you know my frustration. Unlike some females, I was cursed with the appearance of Mrs. Flow 2.0. In other words, it’s like I have to wear those extra long pads that borderline resemble diapers. My, my, my…how sexy. My symptoms are amplified by 100.
Sleep? On average I sleep for at least 4 hours every night, and I’m good to go. Now, I fall asleep EVERYWHERE and anywhere every 15 minutes. Taking the train? Forget about it. I’ll be asleep as soon as I board and won’t catch on till 9 stops past my actual destination.
Makeup? Not happening. I have to wash my face at least 3 times a day to cut the oiliness. I’ll be happy if I don’t accidentally rub my Godforsaken eyebrow off, yet alone apply my foundation over a layer of pimples that seemed to appear 3 minutes earlier.
Hormones? My entire life I’ve been an emotional person. (And I use the term emotional very loosely in this aspect.) I’ve had my shares of meltdowns, and tantrums often stemming from the relationships and anger issues. Nothing extremely over the top. Just your usual crazed, anger ridden girl next door. But on my period, sweet Jehovah…I will cry over everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING.
No more peanut butter? Tears.
Can’t find my sneakers? Tears.
Missed the bus? Tears IN PUBLIC.
No text back? Mood swing. How about I snap at the person I’m texting for no apparent reason at all then cry about it seconds later? Anger. Oh wait…then cry even more because I’m angry over the fact I’m crying in the first place. Sadness.
Let’s not forget: BLOATING. Why wear that cute dress I picked out when I can go in sneakers and sweats? Why? I’m the size of a pregnant whale with breasts that have doubled to the size of cantaloupes. Wait for it…tears. I’m fat and ugly. Tears. Look at me. I can’t fit into anything anymore. *Drops to bed dramatically* I’m hideous! Tears.
Oh and my personal favorite, the toilet chronicles. Most ladies won’t feel the need to point this out but I will. POOP. “Doo Doo”. Feces. Whatever you wanna call it, it happens to all of us. That chronic gas, and rumbling of your insides after every meal. You excuse yourself and rush to the bathroom. Try your hardest to be incognito, but your stench and volume says otherwise. Yeah, we’ve all been there.
But what do I know? I’m only 20.