No heroics.

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I don’t like discussing the inner workings of my uterus so much, but I should have known yesterday that when I thought ‘Y’know what, maybe I will start training for a marathon!’ that I was having one of my typical borderline psychotic episodes where I feel like a superhero for 12 hours before the lower half of my body rebels and turns into a crampy lead brick. This is very usual in the last few years. At least, this time, my hormone-fuelled insanity didn’t lead to hours of dedicated planning, through the writing of charts, lists, and schedules which would then be tossed away the next day. This temporary window of superheroinedom is the only time in my life I’m remotely organized, but it never results in anything. Well, except maybe my graduate degree, which I may well have embarked on as the result of several months of PMS-induced insanity.

Between this cold and my brain’s temporary vacation from reality, I’ve really not had a clever week. I completely forgot that I agreed to work for someone on Sunday because they hadn’t had two days off in a row in months, but this means missing pub quiz on Sunday (which is very important to me, especially in a week when our occasional, out-of-town team members are in Ottawa) and most of a birthday party (also important, but as there’s less of a competitive element, I’m not as invested because I’m a big jerk). How is that I can be home, living the spinster dream of eating dinner (and drinking wine) in front of a 30 Rock rerun several times a week, but not realise I have three competing social engagements on one day? How is it possible to say ‘Now, what was I doing?’ (to oneself) a half-dozen times in the space of 10 minutes? Is there a way to not have PMS make me a blibbering idiot who actually stares into space quite a lot and, maybe, sometimes, drools a bit before realising that she’s been staring into space for five minutes? What a waste of my brain for several days a month.

Nonetheless, I guess it’s a nice change from the screaming, crying, “let me out of this car!”, “stop patronising me by trying to be nice!”, “I’m doomed to be alone forever!!!” (okay, that last sentiment hasn’t disappeared completely) mess I was (sometimes) in my younger days. That chick was crazy.

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