So Talk About It…

I’m so tired of women bemoaning the fact that “no one ever talks about women’s issues like menopause, hormones, libido, you know… all that shit we’ve been told isn’t “polite.”

Sure… I likely wouldn’t sit down and dish on it at a family dinner … Well, maybe *I* would, but I am not your average bear.

But, here we are… we are amongst our friends, so spill…

Why don’t we talk about this?

I know, for me, it’s because I’m tired of not hearing good answers. If I have to hear one goddamn more time how “every woman is different…” I may lose my mind. We are all very well aware of this. We are looking for your experiences and your answers when we ask the question, not placation.

You know, in not sharing your story with your younger friends, your daughters, your female family members, you are missing out on meaningful connections with them. Imagine the power of sisterhood on that level. Imagine teaching young women that there is nothing to fear.

Don’t get me wrong… I really hate how today feels. I’m angry as fuck for no logical reason, and I’d just as soon punch someone as hug them. But that’s the nature of the beast, is it not? I know this is cyclic. I know that tomorrow or the next day, my hormones will level out again, and I will be back to being a ray of fucking sunshine.

I skipped last month. I’m pretty excited about that.

A. Because there’s no way in hell that I could possibly be pregnant.

B. Because I’m stepping closer to the end of all this horse shit.

All of the symptoms arrived like clockwork, though. The body aches, the cramps, the mood swings, the bloating. It was all there. No better, no worse than any other time.

Except for this salad. I’m angry as fuck that this salad that I bought at the gas station SUCKS!!

yeah, yeah… what did I expect? Shut up.

Now I have to go find something real to eat to wash the taste of disappointment out of my mouth.

Maybe that’s why no one ever talks about it. When they get ready to begin the conversation, they get hungry.

Let’s run with that.

Goals Schmoals

“you just need to set goals for yourself…”

I’ve heard this, ad nauseam, since I was a child.

“you’ll feel so much more accomplished…”
“it really boosts your dopamine…”
“imagine how good it will feel to have a goal and to finally achieve it…”

I guess you could say I’ve done this on numerous occasions, and I’m still waiting on this feel-good thing to kick in.

I had a goal to make my living room useable before Thanksgiving, and it’s done.
I lost 100 pounds, give or take a few, on any given day.
Today? Most of my house got cleaned. Well, let’s not exaggerate… let’s keep it real. a lot of my house got cleaned today.

And still… I want to know… When does this amazing feeling of accomplishment kick in? When does the dopamine surge occur? When do I begin to stack my successes so that I can achieve even more?

Goals… I’ve never really been goal oriented, and I don’t know how to fix myself so that I can be. I’m not sure if the lack of this quality makes me deficient or if it makes me … me.

I hate those emails we get from work… “it’s time to set your professional goals for the upcoming year…” Ummm… I don’t know… maybe “not be unemployed?” How’s that for a start? I’m entirely certain that “not killing anyone during my perimenopausal hormonal outrages” is not acceptable, but do they even give a shit that this may be what I actually want? Nooooo…

I guess I can see how maybe it would help in building certain types of skills. I mean, I’m certain that if I had a goal of practicing my yoga every day, I’d be way better at it than I am now.

Alas, I do not.

Maybe I should make it a goal to set a goal.

One of Those Days

Dear Auntie:

I was really hoping this would be the month you would decide that you’ve visited me enough over the course of the last 35 years. I mean, you were 3 days late, and there was absolutely nothing else that could have been going on. What gives? Why are you still showing up?

Really. I’ve had enough of you. I don’t like how you interfere with my life, how you mess with my moods, and how much money you’ve cost me over the years. Money in monthly supplies, ruined clothes, and in medications to dull the effects of your arrival. All of it. I’m done. I’m ready for you to go away for good.

Can you be bribed?
Do I have anything you’d like to have?
I’m sure there has to be something.

Go away already, okay?

XOXO
Dissy