Brain Blah / / Once A Month, Life Is Scheiberer Than Usual.

Article about the screw days ago, short PMS, are about as common as pigeon feces stains on under the trees of park benches. That no longer even surprised those who flutter symptom-free life 150 potential symptoms, of which at least a handful of at at least two-thirds of all carriers of uterine regularly appear. Men, for example. And also women who have the good fortune, has been spared from the side effects of this bloody force of nature to stay, nod very compassionate off lines which speaks the pure menstrual frustration, in most cases. Anyway, I assumed that until now.

The other day, at a Cafe, which brews delicious coffee, I was disabused however, or rather: A worse. A true beauty sat there, her a bearded, co-workers most likely. He got upset, she agreed a curse concert. He scolded what actually have the boss for a problem, and no one could be if she do actually permanently had their damn mens, so unbalanced. Since it shook me a first time, because Yes, there actually are PMS, but this is still no reason, so quick and naughty, and incidentally also sexist to judge. Well, it went of course, both agreed, the boss is an ass, just the thing with this premenstrual syndrome, clattered the beauty – he should remember now that – is a very lame excuse of frustrated Furies, the greatest nonsense, nothing more than an excuse “bitchy wife pictures that have not evolved in the handle”. For whatever reason suddenly crept me the delicious coffee up the esophagus and would have no manners taught me, I would have swallowed no second time down the brown soup, you spit with great enjoyment and emphasis on the neighbouring table.

But instead I fished out my colorful woven pad bag an OB, clearly visible few seconds put it long before me off then quirk as a cigarette between the middle and index finger towards toilet to wear it, including the death look. A reaction that was probably due to my acute period. Once a month the lives of many women is really scheißerer than usual. Mine also.

And because hardly anything so unjust and painful and tragic feels as the abdomen just under two weeks after ovulation, you talk to think again about it. If the uterus about felt on links inverts itself or through the mucous membrane has an imaginary knife across to immediately find its way down to the thighs and back to railways. If the temples throb at the same time and it will turn green in the face in front of nausea. If the belly almost Burns, because the hot water bottle can be not hot enough. Yes, then you should talk to maybe even very much. With his friends, with familiar work College * Interior, the partner or the partner. This helps both sides in case of doubt: and can sometimes lead to the rescue of interpersonal relationships. Because who is particularly sensitive to the hormone back and forth, dragging around happen not only physical, but also mental complaints with it. The latter can also be a pretty hard spawn of hell. It would already be enough to say things like “I have my days and a very short fuse, it is today so hard with me, I’m still very fond to be but great effort” I do it often, is here but against all prejudice is not an excuse, but sincerity. To something like a really serious advance excuse. And I think it works. Shared laughter about dropouts is then for example much easier. In addition, it seems only fair to warn his fellow men, when you’re just about to drown in the face of the period in Weltschmerz, self-doubt and irrational fears. Yours truly then mutates into the purest plague. Each time, so two or three days before we go.

I cry, then because my ice ball is too small. Because someone before my eyes on a slug occurred, maybe just almost, with the topics of the day, or in the face of an empty bag of chips, I cry because I think that my friend would find my elbow to scratchy, I cry because I exist because my favorite jeans tweaks or my mother on the phone has just no time for me. I’m crying because a button falls off. Or the toast of the wooden cutting boards. I cry because I think I would have missed me the color of the living room wall, with my life, the city, the profession, and then I curse before anger and grief and vexation and loud don’t understand what’s going on. I curse of pedestrians on the cycle track or bicycles on the sidewalk, or anything that has feet or wheels, Furthermore, that someone has forgotten the old cream cheese in the fridge, even though I know that I did it myself, I curse about ex girlfriends from friends and new girlfriends of ex boyfriends and everything feels just wrong. I don’t even know if I cry more before the days of my days or curse, I suppose but the former. Then, in the end, only fixed helps cuddle. Due to the General unfairness of the world. Mainly to myself. And because then everything, but really all crap is. Much scheiberer than or

So anyone should claim next week that even not so bad, is it’s all nothing unfortunately left me as animal scream (and crying of course), to spit in the torrent, or with super plus tampons to me to throw that way, damn again finally freed of all taxes. PMS is not a lazy fantasy. Really not. PMS is a right idiot.