I am shockingly not creative when I have PMS. Oh, yeah, I come up with curse words I've never used before, sure, but when it comes to having something clever to say, nope. Not there.
Plus, I'm cranky. Mostly I feel like curling up in a little ball and sleeping for 4 days. Don't get me wrong, I did quite a bit of that this weekend, but I just don't feel like I'm done yet.
I'm at my most fetal, most infantile, most needing to be wrapped up in a blanket and rocked to sleep when I have PMS. If you've never had it, you can't understand it. You know how when someone cuts you off on the highway, and you have to slam on the brakes and hit the horn and your adrenalin squirts into your bloodstream and you get red in the face and you use words you usually only hear on the Sopranos, or, similarly, on NJ freeways? Well, that's sort of what PMS is like -- except there's no guy cutting you off. Emotion without context. Mm mm good.
In fact, you could be making eggs and you're swamped with this, this, this, bbblllluah, nameless emotion, and you want to cry and yell and stir all at the same time. See, when someone cuts you off, you understand completely why you're pissed. Your passengers don't even mind if you take it out on them for a few seconds afterwards because they understand that you've just got some leftover anger that you've got to vent, and that's cool. Hell, sometimes they're angry too. Bastard didn't use his signal! Fucker. But when you're making eggs, and you suddenly feel the need to put your fist through a wall, and you vent at the guy grinding coffee beans next to you, he's more than likely to be a little confused.
Worse, you're more than likely a little confused. You know you're upset, and usually when you're upset there's a reason, so presumably there's a reason this time, too. But, where is it? You swish the eggs around a little, looking to see if the reason is in there, but it's not. So, you start looking elsewhere. Surely you can't be feeling these emotions for no reason. Dammit. Who has pissed you off? Hey, that guy next to you grinding coffee beans might have done something. Maybe you don't know precisely what, but if you think about it carefully, you can probably put together a few microscopic incidents that, TOGETHER, make a real good reason for your adrenalin to be pumping. Hey, didn't he roll the other way when you tried to kiss him good morning? And... yeah... didn't he not want to watch the movie you wanted to watch last night? He hates you. He wants nothing to do with you anymore, and THAT'S why you're pissed off.
Phew. At least you figured it out. Now you can feel good and justified being pissed at him. All day. Kick him if you need to. He deserved it. He didn't hug you when you clearly needed to be hugged. It was all over your face. Damn him for not reading your mind. Fucker.
Unfortunately for our barista, he has no clue what the fuck is going on. The more perplexed he is, the more distant he gets. After all, he's now dealing with a crazy person. The more distant he gets, the deeper the hole gets, 'cos the more of that information spackle you use to explain the increasingly cranky mood you're in.
Do you know about information spackle? When you've got gaps in your data, and you're trying to reach a conclusion, you start filling them in with information spackle. It's made by DuPont, I think. Whatever it is, it's not the kind of stuff that occurs in nature. Manufactured polymer information spackle.
Hormones suck. Yeah yeah, I know there are people out there who don't believe in PMS. That it's just an excuse women use to be bitchy on a monthly basis. Some women don't like it because it gets used against them in a dismissive way, like, "Oh, don't worry about her, she's just got PMS, now about that executive decision..." But for me, I know. *I* get PMS, and I get it bad, and I'm a raving lunatic when I do. I should be locked up and not allowed to interact with other humans.
Particularly the guy who makes my coffee in the morning... I'm sorry, babe...