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10.01.2003 - 12:57 p.m.


So my period arrived this morning, resplendent with its impressive assortment of debilitating cramps (Weetabix, do you have any extra Midol?), bizarre stomach noises (Mrrrooooooooop. Bwarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Bmoooooiit. Bmoit!), and stringent requirements for That Which Is Super Sized And I'm Not Talking Fries Goddammit.

Props to the uterus! With its potential-for-reproducing cycle and all! I feel all empowered and filled with a womanly vitality!

Except, um, I can't go anywhere that doesn't have a bathroom I can dash to every 34 minutes. So that's…yeah, that's actually pretty restrictive. And the cramps, man, that's no fun. And "bmoit"? What's up with that?

Fuck you, Eve.

Well, at least the PMS is over. I never realize that my behavior changes during PMS until I look back and consider some of the odd things that went on in my brain. Examples from the last several days:

I look at a jar of empty peanut butter and consider leaving it outside for Dog to lick while I'm at work. It occurs to me that she would chew it, and swallow little pieces of plastic. I then decide that the pieces of plastic would cause her to suffer a slow, horrible death. I keep thinking about Dog in death throes until I burst into tears. I hug a bewildered Dog, getting tears in her fur, and tell her I'm sorry. I then give her a biscuit as an apology for the heinous death I almost caused her. I snivel halfway through my morning commute.

I work to assemble a floor lamp for my office. After struggling to screw one piece into another, I angrily get up and walk over to my desk, where, with great satisfaction, I violently rip the instructions into tiny shreds of paper. Humming, I sweep the shreds into my hand, drop them in the recycling bin, then go back and finish assembling the lamp.

I watch a TiVo'd episode of 'Six Feet Under'. At the end, I cry lustily for several minutes, making my way through a pile of tissues. Still weepy, I flip over to 'Newlyweds' on MTV. Seconds later, I laugh so hard at Jessica Simpson saying she thought buffalo wings were made from buffalo I practically crap my pants.


I am in a new office at Workplace. I used to share the large front office, which is fairly open and visible (although we finally, finally had a door installed a few months ago), and now I'm by myself in a smaller office that's sort of tucked away at the end of a hall.

It's nice in a way - it's the first time I ever had a real live office all to myself, with a door I can shut if I'm feeling hermity or want to blare music. I have windows looking over the Burke Gilman trail, so I can watch people in spandex all day long, should I be so tempted. I have my Aragorn standup proudly displayed just inside the door, where at least two people have confessed that he "startled" them.

On the other hand, I miss the social aspect of the other office. I feel a little cut off from everything now. I always thought the guy who had the office before me was a total recluse, but maybe it was the office itself, since it's not very accessible.

And, unlike the front office, there is no comfy leather couch in my new area. So where will Dog snooze during the day when I take her to work? On the floor? My god!


Hey, if you ever read the book Jemima J, and you hated it with a pure, clean, driving fury like I did, get thee over to Pound for Jemima J Sucks Week!

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JournalCon 2003

11 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland