OW. OW, OW, OW.
Jun. 27th, 2009 01:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosI am trying desperately to focus on the fact that the four pounds I've lost so far, all of which appear to have disappeared from my tummy, means that my usual hardcore bloating is not nearly as painfully pronounced as usual. The last couple of months, I've just slogged around in yoga pants during my period. That's how ridiculous it's gotten.
Right now, I'm in my size ten jeans and they're not aggravating my cramps. That's nice.
On the other hand, OW. OW OW OW. Dear uterus, I get it, okay? I am not pregnant. I *get* that. We don't have to do this thing every month where you go freaking ballistic informing me of that. Like, take a tip a the Pennsylvania Labor Department. I've been getting my unemployment for months now, and they don't send me a singing telegram at seven in the morning, throw me a goddamn ticker tape parade, and produce an entire variety show to celebrate the fact that I'm getting a deposit in my checking account. They realize my options for fixing the situation are hilariously empty and they keep things on the down-low. You should try that.
I'm not getting laid. I've NEVER gotten laid. You don't NEED the whole rigamarole. Really, I don't need every possible painful, uncomfortable menstrual symptom you can throw at me like the biological equivalent of holding up a megaphone and screaming, "IT'S OKAY. YOUR UTERUS IS COMPLETELY VACANT. MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE. I SAID, THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE. IF THIS HAD BEEN AN ACTUAL PREGNANCY, YOU WOULD HAVE MADE DELIGHTED SQUEALS, A BUNCH OF EXCITED PHONE CALLS TO RELATIVES, AND MORE DELIGHTED SQUEALS. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR HOMES AND PLEASE TIP YOUR WAITER. IN FACT, TIP HIM A LOT SO MAYBE WE DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN NEXT MONTH."
... owwwwwww. I'm just lucky I'm getting summer fair food to make me feel better. *pouts*
Right now, I'm in my size ten jeans and they're not aggravating my cramps. That's nice.
On the other hand, OW. OW OW OW. Dear uterus, I get it, okay? I am not pregnant. I *get* that. We don't have to do this thing every month where you go freaking ballistic informing me of that. Like, take a tip a the Pennsylvania Labor Department. I've been getting my unemployment for months now, and they don't send me a singing telegram at seven in the morning, throw me a goddamn ticker tape parade, and produce an entire variety show to celebrate the fact that I'm getting a deposit in my checking account. They realize my options for fixing the situation are hilariously empty and they keep things on the down-low. You should try that.
I'm not getting laid. I've NEVER gotten laid. You don't NEED the whole rigamarole. Really, I don't need every possible painful, uncomfortable menstrual symptom you can throw at me like the biological equivalent of holding up a megaphone and screaming, "IT'S OKAY. YOUR UTERUS IS COMPLETELY VACANT. MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE. I SAID, THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE. IF THIS HAD BEEN AN ACTUAL PREGNANCY, YOU WOULD HAVE MADE DELIGHTED SQUEALS, A BUNCH OF EXCITED PHONE CALLS TO RELATIVES, AND MORE DELIGHTED SQUEALS. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR HOMES AND PLEASE TIP YOUR WAITER. IN FACT, TIP HIM A LOT SO MAYBE WE DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN NEXT MONTH."
... owwwwwww. I'm just lucky I'm getting summer fair food to make me feel better. *pouts*
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Date: 2009-06-27 09:25 pm (UTC)