Now shit’s just getting silly…

I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.

Look it up. Arm yourself with knowledge to the fact that it’s practically impossible for some of us i.e. me to get pregnant because GUESS WHAT? I don’t have periods. Like hardly ever.

And guess what?

I just got the same thing that is at the end of this sentence. YUP, a period.

I think the last time I had one was in like 2012? I was still working at the college I had also attended.

That was five years ago.

And lemme tell ya, like a period always seems to do apparently (according to a crap ton of conversations I had when I was 13…and 14…and 15….and 16 until my mother got worried and we went to see a OB/GYN who diagnosed me with it), it showed up at a bad time. An epically bad time.

I am at the spit end of a paycheck and I should probably go to the doctor, but I can’t afford to go to the doctor. So as my mother tells me I’m just getting my ladybusiness (at 29 years old), my educated brain says I should probably check things out just to make sure nothing goes wrong, or that it isn’t a ruptured cyst, or that I’m not internally bleeding somewhere inside my abdomen, or that there aren’t alien wombs trying to cling to the lining of my uterus (because that’s how it feels).

And there’s the other fun part! Am I freaking out for no reason? (probably, but don’t judge me) Or am I just having a regular period and I’m just not used to the normal pains that go with one?!


So while I’m chugging chocolate ice cream at night to curb chocolate cravings, having illustrious dreams about Brad fucking Pitt, wanting to stick icicles through my stomach just to soothe the pain emanating from my uterus , breaking out like a mutant teenager, and having emotional roller coasters in the back of District Court today (I felt really bad for one recidivist whose abuse with alcohol is just so sad), all the while wondering what the FUCK is going on my sub conscious mind after the HELL I’ve been through in the past month… I’m just supposed to accept that my baby-maker is just magically working for a week?

I’m befuddled. I’m beyond befuddled. I’m befuckled. That sounds like something Ricky from Trailer Park Boys would say, so on that merit, I’m keeping the reference.

That being said, I want to salute to all of you women. All of you beautiful, regularly-flowing ladies out there. I cannot imagine. CANNOT. IMAGINE. this shit happening once a month. Holy butt-bald baboons. I am a fucking baby when it comes to this cramp stuff. I’m I’m hardly even flowing. Keep in mind, those are rusty pipes down there if you know what I mean.

(Full-disclosure, if you’re grossed out, go eat some strawberry yogurt and watch Look Who’s Talking or something, get the fuck out of here and let me talk.)


Either way, I’m just thankful I can lay low tonight and not be bothered by anyone. Because I would probably kill anyone who tried to instigate any type of human contact right now. Except my kitties.

I love my kitties.

Photo on 6-5-17 at 5.48 PM.jpg

Now, I’m gonna go watch Xenia and read poetry by Kim Addonizio and listen to Bikini Kill.

Damn pre-existing conditions.


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