Of Wine and Womanhood

Being a woman has become increasingly agonizing.  I’m not talking about the current landscape of women being paid less (we are) women being victimized (we are) and the women who speak out only to be victimized again (yup), I’m talking about the ever-raging battle we have with ourselves; our total lack of control over our bodies’ ability to wage a war we can never win.  Or better, a war we knew was imminent, but chose to ignore or hoped it would just fade into myth and legend because, really, who wants to deal with that shit?  The Big ‘M’, as I now refer to Menopause and all its glory, is to blame for all the calamity that has been occurring in my world the past month or more.  At least, that’s where I’m laying the blame, but who can tell now that wine has currently replaced any beverage deemed socially acceptable after 9am?

I know you’re looking for proof, because in this day and age of evidentiary documents no one can just take someone’s word for something anymore.  There needs to be written documentation, witnesses called, a committee formed, stuff examined…that’s not happening.   I’ll just give you the run down and you can take it for what it is.  A warning to all ladies entering this stage of shitdom.  You. Are. Welcome.

  1. Once upon a time, when I was young, I was diagnosed with Psoriasis, mainly on my hands, which I dealt with routinely up until my first pregnancy. The Fertility Gods then shone down upon me and vanquished said psoriasis into oblivion.  Until now.  It’s back with a vengeance.  WHY BODY, WHY?!!  I’ve been scratching and reverting back to smearing petroleum jelly on them, because that’s the only thing that helps the redness, pain and yukkiness.    The hormonal change is wreaking havoc…

 

  1. I tried the root cover-up stuff because, of course, my grey hair was showing a bit tooo much for me to like it. So, on goes the box of root cover dye that says GOLDEN BLONDE.  I take off the towel and ITS NOT GOLDEN ANYTHING, ITS GODDAM BROWN.  Yes, I am now a brunette on top and strawberry blond on bottom.  And it’s not just roots that received the colour.  I’m talking THE ENTIRE TOP OF MY HEAD.  I’m going with the “oh, I’m ombre now” thing except I DON’T THINK THAT’S A THING ANYMORE. In order to balance out the difference, I decided to use my red-dyed-infused shampoo, so now, I have red splashed into the rest of the bottom strands.   It’s like Bozo the Clown dyed his wig just around the crown of his head and left the rest to chance.  I feel pretty!  Apparently, this is how my life works now.
Bozo

It’s like this, only minus the creepy smile…sometimes. 

  1. I caught the cold from Hell and had to stay in bed for almost three days because THE COLD FROM HELL. I’m better now thanks…except for the shit Psoriasis and the grey/brown/red Bozo hair thing.

 

  1. My hip refuses to relinquish to the squats I NEED to do as often as I want, so now, I limp like I’m almost one hundred and fifty. I can’t run.  I can’t walk.  I limp, like I’ve been repeatedly kicked in the ass by a pissed-off, well, ass.
anigif_enhanced-buzz-17297-1368614295-2

How I currently walk

  1. According to Web MD, because I know you all look shit up there too, I have something called Crashing Fatigue. Fucking awesome.  This little trip to crazytown goes down like this:  for a few days or weeks or months, however long YOUR BODY WANTS TO, bouts of fatigue can overwhelm ‘the patient’ causing her to want to sleep incessantly, because it’s not like I have ANYTHING ELSE TO DO WITH MY LIFE.  I experienced this a couple of weeks ago and it lasted for almost five days.  FIVE DAYS of waking up fine until noon, then *WHAM*  it’s sleepy-night-night time.  I actually left work one day and went home for a nap.  I very infrequently nap.  Then, I was in bed by 8pm and up the next morning.  I slept the entire night.  Every night.  It was ridiculous, really.  Apparently, I really should look for appropriate hormonal therapies.  OH, FOR GAWD’S SAKE I DON’T WANT TO.   I also have bouts of short temper, angry outbursts and temper-tantrum-like behavior.  Kinda like a rabid dog without the foaming at the mouth and baring teeth, although Hubby may agree with that description.

grumpy cat

I’ve decided to just go with it and see where this shitshow lands.   I may have to rely on liquid therapy and a lot of ‘alone’ time away from actual people who may find me violently unpleasant.

Great.  I hope you all find the right therapy for you, your friends, your friends’ wives, the bus driver…whomever.

Stay healthy and stay away from the hair dye!

 

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