I am preaching to the choir. I know this. I don't have to tell you about PMS; it doesn't matter if you're male or female. You already know, at a damned near molecular level, why you should hate PMS. It's part of the collective unconscious of our society why you should hate PMS.
But I'm going to tell you anyway. What's that you say? The horse is dead? I'M BEATING IT ANYWAY. Deal with it or YOU'RE NEXT.
1. It's sneaky. I am an absent minded person. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning. I'm so absent minded that I say that I can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning when the simple fact is that I probably didn't have breakfast this morning at all. BECAUSE I FORGOT. That's how I roll. So to say that I don't really pay attention to the calendar to dog when the Red Tide is coming in would be like saying that Hitler didn't hug a Jew today: it goes without saying (because he's dead but also because of the other thing). So no matter what, it always catches me by surprise. I always log when it does get here, so I have that... but when the next one is coming doesn't stay in the forefront of my mind. Which sort of leads into...
2. It's insidious. For me, PMS is almost subtle (almost). It doesn't make me completely irrational or send me into spontaneous crying fits for no reason. It takes my perfectly normal, socially acceptable feelings and just amplifies them a little. Say I'm irritated. On a normal, non-rampaging hormones day, I would grit my teeth and roll my eyes. On a hormonal wingding day, I start threatening to punch rainbows until they bleed those smugly happy colors all over that leprechaun and the bullshit pot of gold he rode in on. Normally I am aware enough to avoid shedding innocent blood but if I'm already stressed out about something else and then the PMS hits, some lambs are going to the slaughter.
3. It's a little like being on nitrous. Here's how I describe being on nitrous: there's a part of you that is perfectly conscious and aware and rational. Then there's the part of you that's in control of your mouth and all your motor functions. That part of you is tripping balls and wants to make sure that you are at some point court ordered to remain at least fifty yards from schools and holy ground at all times. Everytime I overreact while I'm PMSing there's this little voice in the back of my mind going, "You know, normally you're more resilient than this. Also not a joy-devouring she-rat wallowing in the sewer of others' suffering. Have you considered that something might be amiss?" Eventually this voice of reason will penetrate the cacophony of horribleness created by my misanthropic alter-ego. But for a least a while, that voice is lost in the din of someone's innocence dying after doing nothing worse than asking me to pass the sugar at Starbucks. All of which leads to...
4. On the bright side I wind up losing weight because my entire diet consists of colloquial CROW. As mentioned above, at some point, that voice of reason yells loud enough that I finally hear it. Then I look at the calendar on my external brain (phone) and swear loudly and proficiently, but for the first time that day, not at someone whose greatest crime was being on the same continent with me. This time I am swearing at the calendar because 1. I realize that I have forgotten to pay something important (see above re: absentmindedness) and 2. I realize that I have been a total douche canoe all day for no better reason than that my body is producing an excess of Hell Hath No Fury juice that is filtering through my system like that filthy chocolate fountain at Golden Corral. My need to be responsible for my actions and fess up when I mess up (I just made that up. Feel free to use it. You're welcome) then begins a bitter war with my absolute loathing of admitting I'm wrong or apologizing. Now that I'm aware of what's happening, I calm down a little and make concerted efforts to keep the acid breath-weapon that is my hatred of mankind from burning any more holes in my social life or sense of self worth. Eventually I do the right thing and apologize to anyone I've seriously wronged or greivously injured, but I'm still hormonal and I just wind up feeling resentful that I've had to debase myself thusly. Serioulsy, you'd think I'd been made to strip naked, dance the Macarena and play Achey Breaky Heart on a vuvuzela before a jury of my peers.
And so, in closing, fuck you.
*checks calendar*
Goddamn it. Sorry. :)
