Batten down the hatches, she’s about to blow!
It doesn’t matter how many lame jokes people make about it, or how many people try to disprove its existence, PMT (or PMS for my American people) is real and is getting louder.
I was told today by one of the kids I teach that I don’t ever get grumpy and they couldn’t imagine me being mean. Hahahaha! He was talking about the same person who could be classified as an offensive weapon.
It’s not like I’m massively tolerant of people who are intentionally stupid at the best of times (those who try are fine, those who just can’t are fine also, but those who don’t or won’t make my hackles stand on end). I embrace my PMT, I know that my fuse is short and I run with it. I embrace the all out rage and use it as fuel to get shit done (for instance, today I wrote a whole extra module for the school system and didn’t attempt homicide when I was bluntly told it wasn’t wanted after all. I see this as progress). Other times I ride it like a wave and I can see myself reacting to people (read LSH) like medusa, or Nero on a particularly bad day and consider this perfectly acceptable, nay justified on account of all the people surrounding me being total morons who deserve to be rubbed with cuttlefish.
I am aware that this is due to a sensitivity to the testosterone that my body produces (I’m allergic to myself?!) which not only gives me hairy arms, but makes me want to punch stuff and makes me swear like a fishwife. So how do men deal with this? Are they THIS angry all the time? Do they watch themselves from inside and think “You’re being an irrational arse for no real reason, but I’m ok with that. Off you go. Try not to have an embolism, there’s a good chap.”
My goal for this week is to not use the c word more than once per day, and preferably not at other drivers on the way to or from work. This also goes for gesticulation which suggests that the other driver is more interested in sexual activity with theirselves than improving their driving abilities. I will also maintain a swan-like appearance with my students (weirdly, all hormones disappear in the classroom. It’s like my hormones are no match for the teenagers battle royale of puberty hormones).
Finally, I will also refrain from voicing the actual opinions in my head – these shall be filtered for both vulgarity and content. All suggestions of where people should go to, or place items of interest will be vetoed.
Today I am more toad than frog. Don’t lick the toads, they make you go mad….