My period is kicking my ass. How badly, you ask? I had take-out two nights in a row this week: Pad Thai on Monday and Domino’s yesterday. That never happens, ever. And it’s not like I don’t have food to cook here, either: I have a Trader Joe’s heat ‘n’ eat lasagna in the freezer, so if I wanted to be genuinely lazy, all I’d have to do is chuck it in the oven and fuck around on BitLife for 45 minutes. But no, I need endorphins, which means sugar and salt and grease, so Pad Thai and Domino’s chicken bacon ranch sandwich (Donato’s does it better) and pasta primavera.
I’m trying to get my shit together today. I have some tofu marinating in homemade tamarind barbecue sauce (recipe from Appetite for Reduction), which I’m thinking about baking and then combining with a baked sweet potato, shaved brussels sprouts, and steamed rice.
Just, look, Body: The chances of me birthing a child from this body? Slim to begin with, because you can’t stop growing parts of my endometrium outside of my uterus. Plus, I’m not getting any younger, and I’m also not about to have a romantic night at Sybaris with Malcolm Gladwell or Chris Evans or Michael B. Jordan (or all three at once), and I’ve still got my IUD. Stop with this period bullshit, already. I’m over it.
The bleeding and mood swings I can deal with, but the cramps… Christ on a stick. And if they were consistently bad, month to month, I think I could deal with them, too. But no; last month, they were mild. This month, “let’s see how long before she starts puking. Make the pain radiate all the way down her calves and up to her forehead! Every five minutes for three hours! LET NOTHING TOUCH THEM! Oh look, she’s tipped half a value-size bottle of ibuprofen into her mouth. Amateur! Rank amateur! FEEL THE WRATH OF THE ALMOST-VIRGIN UTERUS!”
Fuck, I hate my uterus. Can I just go to the vet’s office next door and ask for a spay? Yes, on myself. Because I will likely never get to say this in a delivery room, “just get this thing out!”
Last updated August 05, 2020