WARNING:  There is mature language used in this post in an immature fashion!

Confession: Okay, so I am one of those women who has horrible periods and wants to crawl in a hole and die once a month. I know plenty of other people who have similar problems, and actually my sister is much worse than me. She heaves and pukes every month. Thank goodness I don't have that. My mother used to go to work in pain, but her kind supervisor would let her sit in the bathroom part of the shift so she wouldn't use up all her sick time. I have some former friends who barely knew they were even having their periods. I now imagine them as those women you see on the tampon commercials playing tennis in little skirts and riding horses and shit. They use feminine products for 5 days, but without the cramps, nausea, headaches, bitchiness, or bloating.

I had a roommate back in college who was in the same boat as me. We classified the 28-day cycle as follows (updated for my current age, condition, and state of mind):

Week 1: I Ain't Got Time to Bleed, but it's coming anyway (for AT LEAST 7 whole days). First comes a couple days of spotting, as a teaser. Then comes the heavy stuff. Just stick a paper towel roll between your legs and call it good. Two overnight pads, overlapped, may be enough to keep it from hitting the sheets. My best friend this week is the electric heating pad, which is the only thing that makes me relax enough to sleep at night. Don't give me shit about sleeping with it on high for several hours, because I am already taking 4000 mg of ibuprofen a day to take the edge off. Tried muscle relaxers, but they didn't work. I did ask an anesthesiologist if I could get an epidural every month, however, insurance won't pay for it.

Week 2: The only week during the month where I feel like a human being. A human who is not bloated or in pain or who does not have to sleep with an electric heating pad. Men have 52 of these a year! Imagine!

Week 3: I want to go ride the motorized horsey at KMart, over and over until I am satisfied. Really satisfied. I should not ever consume alcohol during this week for obvious reasons. (I think men have a fair amount of this week as well.) I don't get the full week 3 all the time, sometimes it is only 3-4 days long.

Week 4:  My grocery bill skyrockets as I purchase every chocolate product at the store, ice cream in my favorite flavor, Totino's Pizza, and every other crap food I can find.  And I buy the jumbo box of super-sized tampons because I know I will need them all next week. My boobs hurt up into my armpits. Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me, anyone. Don't sneeze on me. And don't even think of touching my lunch in the fridge at work. If it is moved to a different shelf, I will fucking destroy you until you are in tears, and you promise to never do it again.  I am guaranteed at least one good cry during this week, usually set off by someone looking at me funny. Don't get me started on the bloating and the constipation. I couldn't button my fat jeans last night. Oh, and how could I almost not mention the huge freaking zits that come during week 4. The kind that hurt for 2 days before they even surface. Pussies. Even they fear me and what I will do to them.

I am not a feminist. In fact, I love men! BUT, if men had to rule the world under these conditions, how would they get anything done? This is one of the reasons that about 11% of me wanted to support Hilary for president. I am not sure if she has gone through the "change," but surely she has been there enough in her life. I could imagine her sitting in the Oval Office, being briefed on a North Korean test launch and saying, "Those fuckers are going to PAY!"

As you can guess, I am in week 4 right now, getting ready for the transition to week 1 in the coming days. Wish me luck and wish my co-workers luck as I go to class on Wednesday, then four 12-hour shifts in a row Thursday-Sunday. Even if I am in a good mood, three in a row tests my patience, and four is brutal. Add week 1 in there and be forewarned, I cannot be held responsible for anything untoward I may say or do to someone who offends my sensibilities.