And by “they,” I of course mean hormonally induced fits of crying, and hot flashes.
I had a few days this month when I didn’t want to punch/murder/eat everything in sight. I actually felt pretty good.
And then I started taking the last round of hormones for this cycle. And chaos has ensued.
Conspiring against me are the trailers for Dolphin Tale.
Ordinarily — that would get me going on a regular day when I’m not giving myself hormones every 12 hours. But holy shit, I seriously can’t get through that sucker without crying. And I mean ugly crying.
Also out to get me?
Anderson Cooper and Ellen. Every day, even if it’s only a five minute segment, there’s something that ultimately ends with me red-faced and sobbing on the sofa. Thank god Oprah isn’t still on, or I’d be done for.
And the hot flashes? Well, the good news is, they only seem to be an issue at night — but they’ve been accompanied by some of the weirdest dreams, ever.
Ok, so I don’t usually like it when people want to tell you about their dreams (i.e., that’s what I’m about to do, and I’m sorry). But this last one? Weirder than weird.
Mike & I are going to dinner at our favorite pizza place, only in the dream it’s somewhere I’ve never been before. When we get there, they offer to let us sample their newest sauce — which looks exactly like barbecue sauce. Sure, ok, we like sauce — so we say we’ll try it. So they dip these huge pieces of fried bacon (awesome!) into the sauce and give it to us to eat. Sure enough, it tastes exactly like barbecue sauce, which I point out.
“Oh, it’s barbecue sauce.”
“…. Um, no ma’am. It’s Strawberry Blood.”
And they just kept calling it that. Strawberry Blood this, and Strawberry Blood that.