Catching Idle Butterflies

Emotional Garbage

I've decided there's one thing in life that terrifies me, maybe not as much as dying of horrendous circumstances, but it runs a close second.

I just realized I'm currently suffering from a terrible, insidious, no cure except popping pills to squelch the symptoms disease called PMS.

Add to that a mere three hours of sleep last night. I'm not only enduring an emotional, threatening-to-go-pyrotechnic-over-every-little-thing rollercoaster ride, I'm a tired grump. Whoopee.

Now it's not PMS that terrifies me, it's what will come when my hormones go wacky on me not seen since puberty. I think of my mom and what she endured for 10 years plus when she went through menopause. Daughters usually follow mothers in how they react to these things.

While it's still early for me, when I get like this, I think, "Dear God, kill me now. I can barely tolerate myself with a little piddly PMS, what kind of person or animal will I mutate into ten years from now?"

Knowing my emotional state is based on fatigue and hormones alone clarifies my thinking. Just because I'm feeling rejected, sad, even a little depressed, it doesn't mean those feelings are entirely justified.

So I will sit here, do nothing rash (though I really, really want to, and believe it or not, that includes deleting everything in my port), and endure. Short of mainlining Midol, I don't have much choice.

See you all tomorrow, hopefully less inclined to show you all what a real nuclear bomb test looks like.