Is it antifeminist to say that I hate my vagina? In other words, sometimes I just really hate being female. I know, it sounds practically sacrilegious to say that; after all, I’m supposed to embrace my womanhood, feel the sisterhood connection, etc. Well, sorry. This was a bad week. And yes, I do hate when men bring up menstruation every time a woman shows any ounce of annoyance or impatience. Still, I have to come clean today. My period affects my mood– in a negative way. No fuckin’ doubt about it. But, I should clarify: women can make that statement. Men, on the other hand, just shouldn’t even go there.

So this week was a tough one. Now that I’m convinced (despite my father’s expert opinion) that the pill was the root of all my skin issues, I’ve decided to stay away. Unfortunately, one of the bastardly side-effects of being drug-free is full-on, unmitigated menstruation-related discomfort. My. fucking. god. First, there’s the PMS. I’ve been the biggest denialist (?) out there, but no more. Last week, I watched Cast Away. Yes, generally an uplifting film about human fortitude. But the part where he returns and finds the wife has married another? So painful. Already pretty bad for a normal week, but last week? Jesus. It was as if Remy had died. Sobbing, wailing, asthmatic breathing, the works. Like a true masochist, I (we) followed Cast Away with The Notebook. Yes, leave it to Nicholas Sparks to gag you so hard with a love story, you practically feel the spoon touching your stomach. I was an absolute mess, I tell you. The whole sofa cushion? Drenched in my tears. And it wasn’t even the last part– where the couple died together in the hospital bed– that got me: it was the scene where she came to for a moment– such a tender, touching moment– and then suddenly, she was gone, screaming frantically at the “intruder” in her room. Holy shit. I was an emotional wasteland. And that was only Tuesday.

Yesterday was our tenth anniversary of togetherness. I know, all these silly milestones get a bit ridiculous (and nauseating). Sorry, I really am trying to cut the list down… Anyway, I was ill yesterday. You see, the night before, I made lemon-egg lamb chops. I was actually starting to feel good about the whole cooking thing, so I tried a new recipe. Needless to say, I managed to undercook the meat and then I grossed myself out after slicing through the pink/bloody chop on my plate. John insists his piece was cooked and tasted delish, but the next day, we both felt sluggish. I actually came down with my usual mysterious fever sickness and I was bedridden most of the day. Serves me right for getting overconfident in the kitchen.

John came home early, but I was still messed up at 5 pm. By the time I finally started feeling better, we were in the danger zone, so we needed food fast. We went across the street, stuffed our faces, and then John asked me what else I’ve done consistently for ten years. Say what? You know, like we’ve been together for ten years, so what else has received similar attention and commitment. Well, shit. I can’t be answering behavioral interview questions when I’m ill, you know? Ten years is a long time. I mean, we’re talking pre-Remy era. Uh well, ten years ago, I collected receipts… We laughed, and then on the walk home, my mystery illness came back with a vengeance. You know, maybe it has nothing to even do with the lamb… maybe it has to do with my period?? TSS even crossed my mind. I know, a little gross but I was checking like a madwoman to make sure I hadn’t left a tampon in for like three days or something (someone I know actually did that!). Ugh. Back to the v. It’s a damn inconvenience sometimes.

So the rest of the night was busted (sorry, Bubs). We watched March of the Penguins, another story about survival. And parental love. Blah, blah. Cinematically, the film was beautiful. And the story was also quite enlightening, but with a major belly ache, it lasted an eternity.

Ten years is a long time. And yesterday was a long, uneventful day.