RIGHT THEN. Periods. Hormones. THE MOON. Absolute weirdo nonsense that boys understand JUST as little as girls do. We’re all doomed. But then we’re fine again. Stupid moon.
THE MOON. It’s got a lot to answer for. Nothing to do with being brought up by hippies – anyone who ignores the effect that the moon – the time of the month – but not necessarily THAT time of the month – has on your body, if you’re a girl, well then you’re stupid and ignorant and lying. Ha.
Yes yes yes… periods are obviously gross and horrid and OH GOD WORST PAIN EVER HATE EVERYONE WANT TO EAT EVERYTHING FUCK OFF IM NOT EVEN HUNGRY IM TOO FAT LEAVE ME ALONE STROKE MY HAIR GIVE ME A CUDDLE DONT TOUCH ME and so on. To be honest thanks to the lovely delicious edible chemicals I take each bright sunny morning, I’ve not bothered with a sodding period for months. Messy business, best avoided. YAY THANKS SCIENCE.
But other things go in cycles too. I like to be busy. The busier I am, the more distracted I am from the things I choose to ignore in my sorry little life.
And that’s a good thing. HEAD IN SAND HEAD IN SAND. So I fill my diary up with fun things and friends and pubs and dinners and all of the wondrous events that this fair city has to offer. And when I don’t, I sit at home feeling miserable and unloved and lonely and THEN…. then it becomes sort of contagious and I don’t WANT to do anything and I just want to be on my own in my pyjamas watching Tintin and sobbing a bit for no apparent reason.
ITS NOT RANDOM THOUGH. No no. There are parts of the month where you are naturally more receptive to say – meeting new people. Or wanting to be around LOADS of people in a big merry group. Or when all you want is time with just ONE person. Or when you want the world to fuck off and die. It’s not just hormones and it’s NOT just me. Anyway. Like I said. My hormones are controlled by a delicate balance of delicious NHS-prescribed chemicals and NOT the moon. But PEOPLE go in phases. I know they do because writing this wasn’t even mine OR Panda’s idea. But someone else, who brilliantly said something quite off the cuff about “I guess he just met me at the right time of the month” and whilst instinctively I thought “eeeew…. ummm…..” what she obviously meant was… it was the Yes I’d Like New Friends And Lots Of People Around Me phase. Not the Everyone Fuck Off Leave Me Alone Forever phase.
I sound mental. Don’t I.
What’s ALSO nice, though, is when you have good people around you to whip you back in to shape and snap you out of this nonsense. Even when you’re SO convinced you need to be alone, these are the people who know you’ll be just that tiny bit happier having a walk, then, say, being bought a new pair of shoes for example, and know you’ll just wind up grumpier the longer you stay in your room.
Periods, monthlies, on the blob, ON, shedding my womb… let’s talk about this shall we?
So first the scientific bit. Eve fucked up big time and the female population is still getting punished THE END. Nawww ok then, once a month our body thinks “hey you sexy bitch, let’s have a baby WORD” So it cleverly builds up a nice comfy lining in our womb we shoot an egg from those plant lookin things, the egg snuggles down and waits and then… and then nothing. That clever little plastic T shaped device that my delightful Dr painfully shoved into the neck of my womb ensures none of them naughty little tadpoles are getting anywhere near my egg.
But what’s this?? My body is fucking livid, all that preparation and no reward. Right take this you baron wench. So my body viciously expels that womb lining and the lonely egg along with it. Out it falls like a never ending repeat of the shower scene from Carrie – PLUG IT UP, PLUG IT UP.
It’s at this point I pop in a tampax and enjoy a delightful afternoon roller skating with friends. FUCKING ROLLER SKATING?? I’M SHEDDING MY WOMB AND YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING ROLLER SKATE. COME HERE MR ADVERTISING EXECUTIVE AND I’LL SHOVE THIS ROLLER SKATE UP YOUR BLOODY ARSE HOLE.
Ahem so yes, that’s the scientific bit over with although I failed to mention the hormones. I’m not sure on the science of those but they’re there. Primeval, turning us into hell beasts, waiting in line at the ten items or less, with our pack of super plus. Spotting the old lady in front who’s pack of Tena lady has taken her total to 11 items. “11 FUCKING ITEMS WHAT IS SHE FUCKING BLIND OR EVIL?? STUPID SLAG!” You mutter whilst accidentally ramming your trolley into her 90 denier ankles. “oh sorry Nan didn’t know It was you, how’s Grandads piles?”
So yeah, this would be a lot to contend with once a year, let alone EVERY SINGLE MONTH. So boys use your noodle if we seem a bit off our game when you find us alone in the dark stuffing a family sized galaxy into our gob whilst sobbing watching an advert for dogs trust. And if we then happen to scream at you for not being sensitive about poor Rex who was abandoned when he was just a pup. Do not DO NOT! Look knowingly at us and mutter the words “Time of the month is it love?” Because we’ll never answer “why yes darling it is” it’s more likely you’ll be faced with a scene much like the exorcist and we’ll say very calmly “NO IT’S FUCKING NOT AND YOUR MOTHER SUCKS COCKS IN HELL!”
I’m not saying us girls have it worse than boys cos you know, you have to deal with wet dreams and inappropriate erections and don’t Drs stick their fingers up your bums pretty much every time you go? But think on this…
When I was ten years old I thought my periods had started but it turns out I’d just strained really hard for a poo. I think I WIN.