So dramatic is this one, that I expect to get at least 15 phone calls at by the end of the day to make sure I'm okay.
First lets just start with the fact that I am the self-proclaimed PMS Avenger. It's a bad one. Bad, bad, BAD. The Sister has even offered to make me a cape. This will be good for the future. But right now it's of no use. NO USE. Because as I bark expletives at passers-by, they just think I've gone wack-o. Or wack-o-er. Whatever.
Would anyone care to experience this PMS business? I mean, aside from those who get to experience the PMS business already? Sure you do. And you can handle it, trust me. Because you will only experience this business for a limited period of time. NOT EVERY DAMN MONTH FOR THE LAST 24 YEARS. Yes - 24 years. And prolly 24 more to go.
I've been warning the housemates (yes housemates - they don't get to be relatives right now) about my current condition for about two weeks now. See they're very lucky. They don't have to guess. I give them a good heads-up with stuff like, "I don't feel well. Can you just pick up stuff and do what I ask after five requests as opposed to ten?" And, "I don't feel like myself, can you help out." Or, "I am the PMS Avenger right now (which means it's worse than normal). Can you just listen to me?"
Yeah, right. "Can you just listen to me?" Thank the Lord that I have this thing called the blogger so that I can be heard.
Dramatic enough yet? NOT HARDLY.
My Sister says some smart things. About 10 days ago, she said another smart thing. Her first born was pitching a fit over something. (I know gasp right? Your kids don't pitch fits only hers and mine pitch fits.) After the Sister works through the current fit pitching, she says, "The only way to stop a room is to throw a fit. You can't stop a room with kindness but you can stop a room with a fit."
Today I pitched a fit. And not only did I stop the room, I believe I stopped the whole damn neighborhood.
This particular fit pitching needs some background for there are several variables. To start, we spent two weeks away from home right before Christmas. It took me roughly three weeks of preparations to go on this trip. I left tired. I spent the trip tired. I came home tired and got sick. Then there was Christmas. Which required more senseless and useless preparation. There was shopping and parties and cooking and cleaning and staying up late and wrapping and more stuff.
The other more crucial element to my current state of mind is the fact that I work for a company that provides software for self-prepared tax returns. This is a nutty time of year. I have much on the plate this time of year because I help with the gettin' it ready for customers.
To make the matters more worser, this tax stuff is about to get nuttier for I provide customer support services to people preparing their own tax returns. That nutty support stuff starts on Monday.
Aside from being the PMS Avenger, I'm Captain Insanely Stressed Out.
We had plans to ski today with the Yahoos. As is customary for any time we do something fun, one or both of the Yahoos start whining because they'd rather stay home and have friends or move their digits about on a wireless controller of some sort while staring at some dumb video game.
I couldn't do the cheer leading thing today. I'm just too spent. Yahoo #1 was whining. So I said, "Yahoo. If you don't want to go, we can stay home." He said, "Okay." But then after five minutes of thinking, he said, "I want to go skiing."
Have I mentioned that I haven't been skiing yet this year? No? Okay, let me mention that.
I haven't been skiing yet this year.
Yippee! I exclaimed. Not really for I'm still the PMS Avenger with the double personality of Captain Insanely Stressed Out and cannot muster anything close to Yippee. But I was excited to go skiing and began the preparations of long unders and warm socks and whatnot. Spouse went over to the neighbor boy's house to see if we could pay him to to let the dog out a time or two.
While pulling on the left sock for skiing (yes I remember this detail), Yahoo #1 comes in the pout-face and says, "I'm not going."
I lost it. Told him to go tell his Dad before he gets hurt.
He runs to tell Dad and returns. Looks at me once and notices that I'm very very serious and very very upset. He begins the frantic pulling-on of his ski pants.
In the which I yelled - no YELLED, "YOU DO NOT GET TO GO. WE ARE CLEANING CARPETS TODAY."
And that's exactly what we did. We cleaned carpets today while Spouse and Yahoo #2 made turns in the sunshine and the snow.
While I sit here and spew stuff onto this listening blogger (that prolly shouldn't be spewed), I'm here to say that I'm done with doing what's right. I'm done preparing and cleaning so that my housemates can have fun. I'm gonna join the selfish Betties out there who spend four hours at the gym every day, go to lunch on a whim, shop like it's free and do pretty much anything they dang-well please.
I'm done saying "no" to myself. I wanna put me first all the time. I wanna take care of number #1. I'm tired of saving money. I'm tired of not spending money so as to stay out of debt. I'm tired of missing out on fun because I've put someone else first. I'm tired of being responsible. I'm tired of my crappy furniture. I'm tired of being the only one in the neighborhood without a flat-screen TV. I'm tired of my 13-year old car. I'm tired of budgets and avoiding debt like the plague. I want it all right now.
How's that for gratitude? Where's that Thankimony that I wrote while in India? Would someone provide me with the link because I seem to be unable to find it.
Here's the trouble with being a woman now days. It's not enough to be a mom. I was raised to believe I needed an education. And a big-girl job. And then I was convinced that in order to have a family you need to quit the big-girl job. So I quit the big-girl job and realize I cannot be happy with the goo-goo and ga-ga and I get a part time-job that stretches the mind a bit.
See? We women cannot have it all. We cannot. We've been raised to believe we can, but we cannot.
Now where the hell is that Gloria Steinem when I need to punch her? Huh? And who does she think she is getting married after all these years of her telling people to burn their brassieres and turn their noses up at matrimony.
So how did I do? Dramatic enough? I can do better... oh can I do better...
(P.S. I'm in bed. Spouse just brought me some food on a tray. I'm gonna publish this post now and feel better.... Later!)