Hello ladies, and the few gentlemen who think they’re being sneaking or just blatantly ignored the title of this blog (you’re really going to wish that you hadn’t unless you’re cool discussing this type of thing, which, good for you if you are, you’re defo boyfriend material).
Today I think there is something that needs to be addressed. Today I really want to talk about PMS.
There I said it. So, boys, get out now, you probably won’t want to go any further than that.
So, anyway, back to the point.
Has any other lady out there ever just wanted to pet a puppy, smell the roses and murder half of the human race all at once?
PMS makes me a crazy b*tch.
It’s like I’m totally fine one second. I’m laughing along to the latest episode of The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I’m dying at all of the hilarious references made and the next second, I just want to watch Charlie St. Cloud, cuddled in a ball with my softest pillow and cry for hours because SPOILER ALERT he should have picked his brother. Bro love over ho love, Zac Efron you idiot.
I also always want to eat. I can go in the kitchen with a plan in mind. I will have some toast with butter and jelly on it. Oh, but that takes too long to make, so I put the toast in, while it’s toasting I put a baked potato in the oven because that sounds good too. Oh sh*t, that’s going to take even longer. So I get a spoon full of peanut butter and dip it in the coco pops, gotta have that chocolate fix. By the time that’s done, the toast is ready, so I have that. Then, the baked potato is taking it’s sweet damn time, so I pull out last night’s left overs and eat those too. Until finally, the baked potato is finished and I leave the kitchen when I realize that now I have to go to the grocery store because I ate everything in the cabinet.
Then I get inhumanly tired. It’s like I can take a four hour nap after sleeping 8 full hours the night before. There is never enough sleep. I just want to stay glued to my bed so that when the next nap attack comes on, I can just put my laptop on the floor and snooze it out.
Can I also just say f*ck having zits at 20 years old. I don’t pay $400+ on skin care, just to have all of my hard work demolished when Aunt Flo comes to town. And all that contributes to is me becoming even more of an emotional wreck, because I’m tired, I’m hungry, but bloated because I ate so much and now, I’m pissed off that I have pimples dotting my chin and T-zone.
I guess I have concerns. Is this what all of pregnancy will be like in the future? Because absolutely no thank you. I can barely handle myself for a week when I have to deal with this sh*t. Could you imagine myself or a significant other trying to deal with me for nine whole moths?! I’d have to be bat sh*t crazy to put anyone through that.
I don’t know. Am I crazy? I know I’m not the only one who has symptoms like these, but they certainly make me feel like a lunatic.