A Typical Day For A Girl PMSing
7:30 am: I do not feel like getting up today. I hate work. I hate driving to work. I hate that I’m literally wasting my best years sitting in one spot, all day long. I hate everything. What’s the point?
7:31 am: OMG… am I depressed? Is this what clinical depression feels like? It does hurt everywhere. My boobs, my back, my – oh wait. PMS.
7:32 am: Thank the lord I have something to blame this near-crippling and completely uncharacteristic anxiety on!
7:45 am: Aw! I love random pimples! Especially in the middle of my forehead, just low enough to be uncoverable by a hat or hair accessory. Now the whole world will know what’s brewin’ neath the surface.
8 am: No amount of makeup could make me not look like a vampire or albino child. I’m not even bleeding yet. How can I possibly bethis washed out? I think I just used 1/4 of my entire blush stick.
8:05 am: Cool, I’m too fat for every piece of clothing I own and want to burn down my entire closet.
8:06 am: Maybe if I just layer my largest dress with my largest sweater…
8:08 am: Perfect. “Pale, homeless, acne-ridden she-man.” Exactly what I was going for.
8:15 am: All I want right now is an Egg McMuffin. Literally, if I don’t get one, I won’t stop thinking about it all day. This is a dilemma. No, I’ve got to stick to oatmeal.
8:20 am: Hi, yeah. One Egg McMuffin, please? And, could you throw some dignity in that bag? Oh, what’s that? You don’t have any because this is a McDonald’s? That’s fine. I can do without.
8:21 am: OMGTHISISTHEBESTTHING-IVEEVERPUTINMYMOUTH
8:25 am: I hate myself for what just happened.
8:27 am: No, ya know what? I deserved that. I’ll just have a salad for lunch, NBD. Checks and balances, amirite?
8:45 am: Why haven’t I heard from my boyfriend yet this morning? He never texts me “good morning.” He’s not romantic. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even like me. OMG, we’re falling apart. We have to break up before it gets worse. I’ll never find anyone else. How do I start over?
8:48 am: Aw! There he is. OMG, he’s so sweet and caring and thoughtful. I love him.
9:30 am: And, I’m ravenous again. How is this possible?
9:35 am: Sure, I’ll have a donut since you were kind enough to bring them in. Wouldn’t want to be rude.
9:36 am: OMGTHISISTHEBESTHINGIVE-EVERPUTINMYMOUTH
9:37 am: One more couldn’t hurt, right? Damage is already done! Haha!
9:38 am: Andddddd, once again, I hate myself. Why. WHY do coworkers insist on feeding the PMS beast within?! Shouldn’t they have some sort of awareness of my cycles by now? I’ve been working here long enough.
10:01 am: Honestly, I think I’ve gained 10 pounds since this morning. I’m eating just lettuce with lemon juice for lunch.
10:58 am: I love my dog so much. What am I gonna do when she dies?
11:01 – 11:15am: (In the bathroom, having an uncontrollable, strangely involuntarily crying episode.)
11:20 am: LOLOLOL @ my best friends on Gchat. I can’t believe I was just heavily sobbing mere minutes ago! There’s nothing to be upset about. I’m insane.
11:32 am: Sometimes it just feels like everyone on Instagram hates me.
11:35 am: But whatever! I post what I want and if you don’t like it, then unfollow me!
11:36 am: JK, please don’t unfollow me. I need you to like this ultra-filtered selfie I just took of my washed out, homeless face so I can then rediscover my self-worth via social media and heavy, saturated colors.
12:00 pm: Time for my lettuce with lemon juice.
12:05 pm: YES! I’LL COME TO LUNCH WITH YOU. I HAD NO PLANS.
12:31 pm: Why is food so f*cking good? I don’t know if it’s PMS or what (it’s PMS), but I think I could honestly die stuffed on pizza and Chipotle and queso and I wouldn’t regret a [email protected] thing.
12:45 pm: I’m a hoss. I’m a fat hoss and no one will ever love me.
1:07 pm: I kinda like when my boobs get all swollen like this the week before. I feel so… womanly.
1:10 pm: My tits are huge and make me feel enormous.
2:46 pm: I feel like picking a text fight with my boyfriend. He hasn’t even checked in on me today or asked if I want to hang out this week.
2:48 pm: NO, NO. I don’t care if you “Thought it was implied at this point.” I NEED ROMANCE. I NEED COURTSHIP.
2:52 pm: Yes, I’m serious. I’m so serious, as serious as Amanda Bynes’s mental breakdown. That serious.
2:53 – 3:15 pm: (Radio silence to make him sweat.)
3:16 pm: I’m sorry. It’s just that, I miss you. You make me so happy and I’m feeling down this week.
3:18 pm: No, it’s my fault. Ugh, I’m so sensitive lately. I’m so sorry, babe. I feel so weak and stupid.
3:19 pm – 3:30 pm: (In the bathroom, having an uncontrollable, strangely involuntarily crying episode.)
4:12 pm: All I want to do is go home, put on the biggest clothing I own, drink an entire bottle of wine and cry. God, I’m pathetically stereotypical.
4:15 pm: No. I’m gonna go to the gym. I’m going to battle my own PMS demons and say F*CK YOU and go sweat it out. I don’t have to succumb to the beast within. I’ve got the power!
4:16 pm – 5:05 pm: (Simultaneously looks up “total body fitness” workout moves and every Pinterest recipe involving pasta, ever.)
5:30 – 6 pm: I hate traffic. I hate it so much. This is awful. I’m literally never getting home. Or to the gym. This sucks. I’m just going to give up, right here. Just stop my car in the middle of this debacle and sit and fester until I’m found and fed and told I’m pretty.
6:01 pm: AND WHY HAVEN’T I HEARD FROM MY BOYFRIEND?
6:02 pm: I just want my dog. The gym doesn’t have my dog. Screw the gym. I can be fat for one more day.
6:30 pm – 10 pm: I deserved this wine. Isn’t one glass a day good for you, anyway? So, like, four glasses a day has to be amazing for you! God, what if I amount to nothing in my life? Look at me. Look how easily my own reproductive system victimizes me. I’ve allowed my hormones to dwindle me down to this pathetic, sweatpants-wearing, wine binge-drinking, pizza-ordering, overly emotional mess.
Why are the Gilmore girls so wonderful? I want to live in Stars Hollow; Lorelai and Rory would make everything okay. They always do. I hope my boyfriend still likes me. But, if he does, why? I’m insane.
But I’m also awesome. I mean, when I’m not being insane. Which I only am for one week a month. It’s like that Marilyn Monroe quote, you know, the one about having me at my worst? Or accepting me at my best? Or something. I don’t know. I’m f*cking starving again.
10:05 pm: Hi, boyfriend. I know we don’t normally spend weeknights together because life is terrible and work is hell, but I really need you to come over and hold me tonight. Please?
10:06 pm: (Serious threat of uncontrollable crying fit diffused.)
10:15 pm: Yaaaay, boyfriend!
10:20 pm: Sorry, I’m just not in the mood at all. I feel disgusting. Please stop trying, it’s not going to happen, okay?
10:30 pm: Hey. Are you still awake? I’m in the mood now.
10:45 pm: Goodnight, world. See you tomorrow.
10:45 pm – 11:00 pm: (tossing and turning)
11:01 pm: F*CK, I’M HUNGRY.