photo by deb
Every other month, for one week, I feel like I am living in a different mind and body. PMS...I live it, breathe it, feel it...it is so real. After over 20 years of this, you'd think I'd become more comfortable with it. Not so much. Probably because I am a glass half full kind of person (I know, annoying) and I tend to look for the rosy posy in all situations but when this hormonal week hits, its all doom and gloom baby. It is such an out of body experience for me...how aggravated, irritated, short-tempered, tender, angry, irrational I can be about almost every. single. thing. I mean, I even cried because someone honked at me yesterday. I cried when a neighbor that I hardly know said to me..."what's your name? I forgot your name!" I walked away thinking to myself..."see? you're totally forgettable!" I laugh now. We laugh now but at the time, the world thought I was forgettable and that was such dread for a few hours.
My dear patient husband. So many months he has taken this ride of hormones with me and has tried his personal best not to take stuff personally and I bow to him for such expertise in the land of women. I remember reading a blog entry by Keri Smith, who has a stellar relationship with her husband much like I do and she opened up about how bad her PMS was. She said..."A week before my cycle, every month, I think I want to divorce my husband." I giggle at this and I wouldn't go as far as wanting to divorce Boho Boy, but I am extra hard on him and bring to surface all these things that any other day are not at all a big deal. Then as soon as my cycle starts, I look at him like he is the most amazing man in the world and I see all his beautiful goodness and I feel blessed beyond measure and madly in love love love (and want to rip his clothes off...ovulating much?).
Girls...we so need to go back to the days at the beginning of time when women had a Red Tent to retreat to, where they could be together during their cycle and cry and whine (while drinking wine) and bitch and moan and cry and cry. But also a time to be totally vulnerable and raw and open to the wisdom of other sisters. A time to connect and sooth and renew and reveal. Instead, we are having to function as we always are, when what we really want to do is crawl into that red tent and hang out for a while.
Today, as I was driving and on the verge of tears, I noticed a car in the lane on the right to me. The license plate read "Peace XO". There were pretty multi-colored daisy and peace sign decals all over each side of the car. When we pulled side by side at a red light, I looked through the drivers window and saw a fiery redhead with short curly locks and a funky hippy shirt on. She reminded me of the beauty of my marmie. Her head was bobbing to music and her red plump lips against her white skin had a smirk. A very confident, sure of herself, in her own little world of bliss smirk. She then glanced over at me (probably just realizing a stalker was observing her groove) and I got so nervous that I giggled and waved. Then she waved back with a huge grin, turned away and continued grooving. SHE MADE MY DAY.
She was my red tent.