GLARING: Period Day 1

So you wake up from a dream, not a bad one, or a good one really, just a dream, one of those you’ll forget in a few minutes and never think about ever again. You lay in bed trying to figure out what the hell to do with your life, then you cough and BAM there it is, that feeling, that shitty feeling, she’s here, your girl, your arch nemesis, your one month reminder that you are without child, that beast that turns you into a beast, your period. So you get up and you go to the bathroom, not rushing because let’s face it, you’ve been at this for fifteen years or so, that’s a period a month, that means that’s a bunch of math you’d rather not do, so you stroll to the bathroom and sit on the toilet and contemplate maybe just getting pregnant, or having your uterus removed, or going on the pill, or something that will stop this bitch from ruining your day yet again, but you’re not ready for a baby, you want your uterus, and the pill makes you fat (that’s what your mom told you) so you do what you do every month, you get your shit together. So for a good five to ten to twenty minutes you just glare at the bathroom wall happy no one can see your sad and angry face in this moment of weakness. You plug up, or lay down some stuff, or both, who knows how the day is really going to go, better to be safe than sorry, and by sorry you mean being that girl with the big red stain on the back of her pants that some sister in arms kindly points out. You look at yourself in the mirror, your skin looks gross, your hair looks gross, You look gross and no amount of “suck it up sister” is going to solve it, not now, not today, so you just glare at yourself, twisting your face into the scowl it will be in for the rest of the day and get on with your shitty day.

Work, yeah that thing you have to do in order to afford a house and those stupid period accessories that they charge way too much for (because they know you’ll buy them, you don’t really have much of a choice) and of course food, glorious food. Oh food is wonderful and it makes you feel so good inside, its always great, and there for you, and it’s practically your best friend, let’s face it donuts are your spirit animal, and any kind of snack that is salty and sweet is the reason you live. You are rambling. So you get to work and everyone is just walking around, and they are smiling and drinking coffee and asking about each others nights and did you watch this, and what season are you on for that, and did you hear that she did this, and I want to do that this weekend… Everyone shut up, why are you so damn happy, today is shitty, today is the end of days, today is the day for everyone to shut the hell up and sit at your desk and type as quietly as possible, better yet just go away, just leave and do something other than breathe in my direction, especially you John and Gary and Bob and Tim and Glenn and anyone who doesn’t get a stupid period, shut up shut up shut up shut up or I will shut you up.

Now you are sunken down in your chair glaring at everyone who passes by, so they know NOT TODAY. But of course you are forced to make some polite conversations with your boss because you can’t shut them up, and they ask you stupid questions, and make stupid statements, and basically tell you how to do the job you have been doing for years, and you think go away or I will make you go away… wait.. not today satan… polite small talk, make them feel better about themselves, then glare so they get the hint.

You are barely functioning, even after popping more than the recommended dosage of some PMS pills that are a happy pink or purple color and come in the most frustrating package in history. You are clicking things on your computer but you are not actually doing anything because FUCK THAT. Now you have to play the, “what was that game?” where every sneeze, cough, breath and fucking blink may cause the Niagara Falls of blood to gush out and then you have to go to the bathroom for the thirtieth time, all the while glaring at people as you walk funny trying to make sure shit does not go wrong. And then you play the period bathroom game.

You are a grown ass woman, in a bathroom full of other grown ass women, you can open your period accessory and not be ashamed. So it makes the loudest ripping sound ever, and echoes for eternity, so everyone in the room will know you are on your period, so what, it’s not like they have never been in the same place… Right? Nope you try to be as quite as possible, because lets face it, period=shame and you are ASHAMED. So it takes you longer to get your shit together because you are trying to be quite. And then it hits you, the coffee you drank, the food you ate, and everything is gross down there and now more gross stuff is happening. Why? Why do you poop more just because you are on your period? Is it your bodies way of punching you in the face then giving you the finger after you are laying on the ground? Yup, your body hates you, it hates everyone really, but mostly it hates you. So now you need toilet paper and you have to use basically the entire roll, there is no other way and you know they are listening to how many times that roll goes around the tube thing, whatever who cares. Flush… Flush… FLUSH… Please Flush… Flush… I’ll do anything Flush… oh thank god you flushed. Exit the stall and there she is, your sister in arms and she gives you the look, the been there look, thanks Susan.

You go back to work and proceed to have as terrible of a time as you thought, everything and everyone is shitty, and they can all burn. After eight hours and sixty-six bathroom visits, five billion times trying to sneak accessories from your bag to your pocket, ten times of glaring at every person who walks by, a glorious lunch, and finally you can drive home… But first one more bathroom visit, for the road, cause you never know with traffic. And of course traffic sucks, and everyone is driving awful, and then you cough “WHAT WAS THAT?” This sucks, and no one understands your pain. No one gets that you are willing to claw out that stupid organ and throw it into the street, and… OH DOGGY, you love doggies, they are so perfect, you should get a dog, and you’ll love it and it’ll love you, but get a girl dog then she’ll know your pain and she’ll be the only one who understands, because she’s a girl and oh god you’ll just love her to pieces and… FUCK YOU! that jerk just cut you off, you’ll make a mental note of his license plate and plan to assassinate him later. You love this song but it reminds you of your ex, and they can die in a pit… pit… pitbull, you should get a pitbull they are so underrated and cute and have fat heads, god you feel fat right now, but your dog would never think your fat, to her you would be perfect, hell you are perfect, except your skin, but whatever it’s only for a few days.

You are home, pants come off, cause those stupid things are too tight. Bra comes off, let those puppies free. Pop some more pills girl. Turn on the TV it’s your show. Sweat pants, baggy t-shirt, ice cream and chips because fuck you. Your couch comforts you, she has always been good to you, always.

One more bathroom visit.

It’s night and you’ve cried three times, once over how lonely you are, then over a paper towel commercial, then because you were mad at yourself for crying so much. Awkward shower that looks like someone died. Then giant granny panties that have seen you through three years of periods and have yet to fail you. Over sized accessories cause you like your sheets and you are not about to take chances with this wild thing being tame overnight. Brush your teeth, glaring at yourself in the mirror yet again because you suck… but you are also a QUEEN so smile too. Pop some more pills, for the road, and finally sleep… ish… one more bathroom visit… Now sleep.

Day 2.



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