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Not funny indeed -- A Rant about Hormones
Jul. 26th, 2010 08:42 amTo be more exact: neither funny nor fair. Really. Well, at least I did the clever thing yesterday, when I woke up feeling like something that had been chewed repeatedly and then thrown up -- a bit of mental calculation, and uh-oh, it's PMS. I was tempted to cancel tennis but didn't, and after tennis I even managed to drag myself to the supermarket for grocery shopping.
But I wanted to meet eeps+friends for cinema and dinner, and had to admit to myself that I was feeling too grumpy, antisocial and generally bad to work up any enthusiasm even for nice company.
Therefore I
- ate comfort food for lunch (crisps, cheese, garlic bread, wine)
- slept 1,5 hrs
- woke up even grumpier due to consummation of junk food followed by sleep
- allowed myself to wallow in doomsday mood till I began to feel a bit ridiculous
- cajoled myself into mani-and pedicure accompanied by Cosí fan tutte
- felt better because of Mozart and did an hour of step aerobic and abs
- felt even better because I'd worked out and taken a shower
- spent the evening watching two Babylon5 movies, consuming moderate amounts of alcohol and a terribly spicy but yummy potato-and-pepper casserole, feeling somewhat reconciled with myself and the universe at large.
The trick is to let myself wallow until I feel slightly ridiculous, which is the point where I can actually pick myself up and do something to make myself feel better.
It's the thorny path leading to that point, which is the really nasty part of such a PMS day. Because everything seems to go wrong on those days. Case in point: after Cornelius had demanded to be brushed and left the bath tub in a cloud of wool, I picked up Lucius, as usual, to put him into the tub. In doing so, I kicked the packet of toilet paper with my left foot, which resulted in a sharp rustling noise; I may also have twitched a bit. This, however, was enough for Lucius The Queen of Drama Queens to jump off me in fright. You ought to see the underside of my left breast. And the skin in the solar plexus area. It's rather impressive scratch-wise, if I say so myself. Fortunately I have this healing-cum-desinfectant cream, which I put on after showering, and the scratches are already healing. Unfortunately the claws on the hind legs aren't too sharp, which means the scratches left by the vigorous kick-off are less deep but broader and more ragged. It's lucky that I don't have a problem with scarring.
I suppose yesterday's bad mood didn't have to do only with hormones but also with the changing weather: between Saturday and today, the temperature has fallen by a good 15° -- today is overcast and cool. Which also means no sweating, i.e. the scratches will heal even better.
Final observation: is it humanly possible to play tennis with a man, if you have to speak English? Depending on what type you are, constant blushing (not me) or snickering to yourself (very much me) is unavoidable, given that you have to say things like, "Do you have balls? I forgot to pack mine" and many others involving balls. Last Sunday, when I was playing with my Hungarian colleague, I spent half the time quietly giggling.
But I wanted to meet eeps+friends for cinema and dinner, and had to admit to myself that I was feeling too grumpy, antisocial and generally bad to work up any enthusiasm even for nice company.
Therefore I
- ate comfort food for lunch (crisps, cheese, garlic bread, wine)
- slept 1,5 hrs
- woke up even grumpier due to consummation of junk food followed by sleep
- allowed myself to wallow in doomsday mood till I began to feel a bit ridiculous
- cajoled myself into mani-and pedicure accompanied by Cosí fan tutte
- felt better because of Mozart and did an hour of step aerobic and abs
- felt even better because I'd worked out and taken a shower
- spent the evening watching two Babylon5 movies, consuming moderate amounts of alcohol and a terribly spicy but yummy potato-and-pepper casserole, feeling somewhat reconciled with myself and the universe at large.
The trick is to let myself wallow until I feel slightly ridiculous, which is the point where I can actually pick myself up and do something to make myself feel better.
It's the thorny path leading to that point, which is the really nasty part of such a PMS day. Because everything seems to go wrong on those days. Case in point: after Cornelius had demanded to be brushed and left the bath tub in a cloud of wool, I picked up Lucius, as usual, to put him into the tub. In doing so, I kicked the packet of toilet paper with my left foot, which resulted in a sharp rustling noise; I may also have twitched a bit. This, however, was enough for Lucius The Queen of Drama Queens to jump off me in fright. You ought to see the underside of my left breast. And the skin in the solar plexus area. It's rather impressive scratch-wise, if I say so myself. Fortunately I have this healing-cum-desinfectant cream, which I put on after showering, and the scratches are already healing. Unfortunately the claws on the hind legs aren't too sharp, which means the scratches left by the vigorous kick-off are less deep but broader and more ragged. It's lucky that I don't have a problem with scarring.
I suppose yesterday's bad mood didn't have to do only with hormones but also with the changing weather: between Saturday and today, the temperature has fallen by a good 15° -- today is overcast and cool. Which also means no sweating, i.e. the scratches will heal even better.
Final observation: is it humanly possible to play tennis with a man, if you have to speak English? Depending on what type you are, constant blushing (not me) or snickering to yourself (very much me) is unavoidable, given that you have to say things like, "Do you have balls? I forgot to pack mine" and many others involving balls. Last Sunday, when I was playing with my Hungarian colleague, I spent half the time quietly giggling.
