Now, however, the moment that I initiate a diatribe about how I’m not the maid when someone asks what’s for supper I recognize that it’s THAT TIME. Suddenly my right boob starts to hurt and becomes progressively ouchier… it’s then that Mother Nature has initiated the launch sequence and T minus 6 days or so and counting before the mind numbing cramps and burning backache and the oh-my-God is it time for bed yet fatigue starts.
I suppose the reason that I bring it all up is that I have to endure the jibes about being psychotic and a bitch on roller skates and so on and so forth during that time of the month, but the thing is…I feel that way most of the time, I just don’t say or do anything about it. I hate it when everyone throws their clothes near the hamper and not in it. I hate it when I have to go through the house to pick up dishes. It irritates me when I’m cooking and doing dishes while everyone else sits around watching T.V. I hate it when someone needs clean clothes at 7:30 am and tells me at 10:59 at night. I hate it when I have to nag everyone into doing their chores. And I especially hate telling people stuff and then hear them say, “You never told me that.” Turns out when you’re screaming and throwing things…you get attention.
The PMS ensures that I have a reason for telling everyone exactly what I think. I have a reason to throw things and make an ass of myself. To tell the truth, I think that if I didn't explode once a month and tell everyone in my house how ungrateful and lazy and slobby they are then I’d probably be carted off to the booby hatch. Of course most of the explosive ranting on my part is usually followed by quiet sobbing in the bedroom, because I feel bad for losing my temper and sort of stupid for yelling and a little bit like I’m losing my mind.
But it just so happens, I’m not losing my mind….I have a disorder.....