Mother Goddess... Come Back

You know, back in the day, before women were considered the inferior gender, we were thought to have elaborate and extravagant magical powers. We were goddesses, heads of household and distinctive politicians. Once a month we would travel with other women to palaces, sit on silk pillows, wrapped in gauze, and fed grapes by women servants, no men allowed during this especially magical time. The men weren't allowed, of course, because it was well known that they would only cause aggravation having the potential to turn the magical powers to evil. Society was smart back then.

I started thinking about this today. I'm on my bitch... and it sucks. I'm not talking about all the gory details here; I am just talking about the general and common emotional turmoil. My boyfriend, last night, after an explosion fit for no one, told me that he had no point of reference to empathize with my emotional distress, so I am here to clarify. Men, be cautious, scenes may be graphic. Women, I know that you can all understand!!!!

I have to start this out by saying I had the most fantastic day yesterday. Went vintage warehouse digging, house hunting and snuggling with my boy. We both went our separate ways after making plans to hang out later that night. I went out to dinner with my friend and talked about how amazing the relationship was growing and how much I was in love. I told her about how we were thinking of taking the big leap to move in together in 6 months (after my lease is up), and how arguments were very few and far between. I opened my big mouth just a moment to soon, at least on the part of arguing.

Fast forward to 10:30, boy nowhere in site, haven't heard from him since 8:30. Silly me, instead of taking the high road and hanging out with my friends, I have decided to take the low road. I sit in his house, and simmer in my own anger. Normally, this type of thing requires a simple yet firm "I wish you would have called" and move on, but no, when I am on my bitch, I grow horns.
He walks in, and looks at me, that's it, he looks at me, and I am off the wall. Instead of the oh so easy, "hey, here's what I am feeling", I scream, "how dare you think your time is more important than mine", "how can you be so selfish", and "you inconsiderate jackass!!!" I wonder now, how I could have been surprised that he took off, out the door, before I could calm down.

Some one tell me, please, how this could have happened? I am an emotional person by default but I have learned how to rationalize myself out of it when necessary. Last night it was necessary and somehow I managed to lose every single skill in human relations I have ever learned. Again, can anyone tell me how this could have happened?

Next question, who can be to blame? It can't be me; I was not in control of the situation or myself at all. In the heat of the moment I felt like a green scaly monster all covered with pink polka dots and magenta horns. I could feel lime ooze springing from my pores and hear my own evil magical powers twinkling in my ears. At that moment, I felt that if I just willed it hard enough I could "binkle, binkle, bink," him into submission, I Dream of Genie style. Could it be him? Sure, he didn't call, but I didn't even wait for an explanation, that ended up being a pretty good one. Nope, it was not he who was to blame; he was an innocent bystander to my alter-alien outbreak.

So, who could it be? Maybe it's some alien civilization who has nothing better to do than watch women grow horns and men run, with their tails between their legs, to the nearest cave so they can lick their wounds. Maybe it is the Mother Goddess, punishing us all for forgetting her name. Could it be some elaborate joke, set up by the earth, to get us back for all the drilling, fighting, and squandering of her resources? Or maybe, just maybe, it's hormones. Hormones, those crazy little somethings in our bodies that help us reproduce, you know, make babies. If only they weren't such a necessity, we could just get rid of them all together.

You see, here's the thing, when the bitch is in town we all react differently. I have one friend who locks herself into her spacious bedroom and eats chocolate ice cream until she can feel her heart about to burst. No one is allowed in her room during this time and she doesn't see anyone. She takes the week off of work and never has any problems. I have another friend who wears her pajamas to school and doesn't shower. She doesn't seem to have any problems either, maybe because she smells bad, but whatever, it works for her. Another friend suffers from menstrual depression and it is no exaggeration when I tell you that when something as harmless as soap commercials come on the TV or radio and that girl is on the floor curled in a little ball crying her eyes out. Me, I am pretty even keeled, until I get upset. After that it is probably best if you just turn around and run away quickly. I could, of course, lock myself in a room, or make myself completely unpresentable to society, but I can't. I love being alive, surrounding myself with wonderful people and doing fun things. I would sincerely feel like I was missing out if I just disappeared for a week a month. At least, if I had to go by myself like my friends do.

So, wouldn't it be nice to go back to the old days? Send the women away for a week of pampering and exclusion from the outside world. We could eat ourselves fat and happy, smother ourselves in chocolate ice cream, swim in it if we felt the need. We could laze around on fluffy pillows and gossip to our hearts content. More importantly we would be refrained from hurting the poor and unsuspecting boys in our lives. We could protect them from the balled up tissues, the chocolate soup spilled on the pillows, and the magenta horns sprouting from scary green and pink polka dotted monsters that ooze misunderstood lime hormones.