|I wuv you all--do you LURV me ?|
Does anyone remember the OLD PMS KAREN? She was so angry! So acerbic! So filled with BITING VENEMOUS RAGE! I still miss her sometimes, to tell you the truth. Vitriole is yummy.
Okay, enough talking in third person...or second person...or whatever. How come it's never second person?
Anyhoo, in case you were interested, I am mere days away from enjoying some quality time with my red buddy. MERE DAYS, people. So what? I'm still nice! At this point, I would have been deep in the heart of two weeks of pure, gorgeous hate. Maybe today would be the day wherein I would scream at some point; THIS HOUSE IS A PIG STY.
The house would be a pig sty, of course, because a) I'd be WAY too miserable to clean it for the past 11 days, and b) my COMPLETELY SELFISH, UNGRATEFUL family OF JERKS would be perfectly content to live in their own filth.
I would hate everyone. Oh yes, even you. It would be confusing to you, because mere days before, when I still carried the EGG OF LOVE in my lady core, I'd be so fun, caring, and friendly. Then the egg would drop, the hormones would shift, and you'd be lucky to get an out-of-office reply to your emails saying; F*CK YOU. But no, you wouldn't even get that.
Maybe somewhere around day 9 of hormone hell, if you could force a convo out of me, I could tell you about how I'm DOOMED, AND WE'RE ALL DOOMED, AND RIGHT BEFORE THE EARTH TURNS INTO ONE BIG UNLIVABLE DUMP PIT, WE'RE ALL GOING TO GET PANCREATIC CANCER, SO WE CAN LIVE OUT OUR LAST, POST-APOCALYPTIC DAYS IN AGONY AND PAIN.
But then, by day 10, I would revert back to apathy karen:apathy blech karen: "I'm not making dinner tonight, and I don't care."
The Man: "okay, what do you want for dinner tonight?"
apathy blech karen: "I don't care."
The Man: "oh yeah, I forgot to tell you I changed the sheets on BLANK's bed. There was poop on it."
apathy blech karen: "WHATEVER."
Jack: "MOOOOOOM! ELLA KEEPS HITTING ME!"
Ella: "MOOOOOOOM! JACK KEEPS CALLING ME ELLIOT!"
......Oh wait...I still don't care about that last one.
Hee hee! But that was the OLD KAREN, sillies. The NEW PMS karen currently has a kitchen so spotless, it's ridiculous. My bed is even made, for crap's sake.
And, while the New PMS karen still would rather you DIDN'T touch her, or even let your elbow accidentally brush against her in bed, or your hot foot for that matter--why the hell do your extremities need to be so FREAKING HOT all the time, anyway?!?
Yes, while I'd still rather you keep a gentle distance, I feel calm, and pleasant, and have been thinking dreamily of love, and past crushes. I've been thinking of the wonders of gardening--the mysterious commune with plants, and the vast need for patience and order.
See, I just dropped a hundred bucks at the garden centre on Sunday, and when I hopped in to my flower CRAMMED car, I was thinking gooey crap about how my car is filled with LIFE, and this is what LIFE feels like, and what beauty SMELLS like, and how marvelous it is to grow things, and make every corner of your world beautiful...and tinkle...tinkle...tinkle... ice cream trucks and rainbows...and heart-shaped butterflies!
The old PMS karen would have been freaking out that some lady was ambling across the parking lot, IN MY WAY, taking her sweet ass time, and I'd have been thinking; "GET OUT OF MY WAY A$$HOLE I NEED TO GO HOME AND PLANT MY F*CKING GARDEN."
You're welcome people. You should all write a letter of thanks to the woman who invented THE SUPPLEMENT.