I am lucky - generally I don't have the debilitating cramps some women get on a monthly basis.
V is not so lucky - generally, he does pretty well walking through the quicksand the week leading up to Red Wednesday but sometimes it can come out of left field.
What do you expect when you combine the weekly shopping list, the budget limitations and a woman who feels like every comment is a personal barb?
Then I and 'Salina went off to the shops. The shopping centre of the moment (until 'Salina pays off her lay by) is not exactly designed for people with PMS.
For one thing, they have really stupid people shopping there. Truly - I think they truck them in, especially at this time of the month JUST SO I CAN GET well and truly narked at them while waiting in the long queues.
Secondly, they have been renovating for the last century or so, and therefore only one lot of toilets is open - and its not the ones near you when you want to "freshen up" - and the ones that are open rarely are filled with luxuries such as toilet paper , soap or flushable toilets.
Then, after artfully moving all the stupid shoppers into my path once again at the grocery stores, they change the layout, hide the obvious and decide that cat owners will just have to put up and shut up with the choice of ONE CAT FOOD in the fresh meat section, because they need that extra eighty acres of pet food refrigeration for dog food. Nothing against dogs, but they will eat anything - my cat, a little more discretionary.
They only have about 60% of the checkouts open, and each has at least one or two of the stupid shoppers unloading groceries for the next month. If you show any hesitation in choosing a checkout, guaranteed another fellow consumer will whip in and take the most appealing spot.
I got home and V wasn't quick enough to help me unload the groceries - big mistake, as I have a great line in passive aggressive grocery unloading that would curl weaker people. After lunch I needed a kip (hell, you do after shopping) and he made the mistake of lying on the wrong side of me in front of the box - which of course meant that he was not happy with our current sleeping arrangements, he had put up with it and shouldn't be so wimpy in making his stand for which side of the bed he wanted and maybe he should just - I don't know what he should have done, but his suggestion that it was not the discussion that should be held at this time of the month both infuriated, got a giggle and made me somewhat weepy...
That was Saturday. Yesterday I again got hit with the worst side-effects of my career - migraine central.
You begin by having your head both implode and explode at all times, doubly so when you are required to move. If you are forced to face food (sort of a "must do" with a child) rarely will your stomach sit still.
If you try and sip some liquid to sooth your throat, your body will expunge the nasty incursion with a refund of both the liquid plus an acidic concoction that smells nasty, requires all your muscle groups (including the ones that would usually hold other parts of your body in place - mothers of the world, you know the ones I mean) and BURNS that throat that got you into trouble in the first place.
My day consisted of - wake up, groan, take panadol and water, look at daughter's breakfast options, throw up, lie down, groan, throw up, lie down, sip water, groan, throw up, lie down, throw up, lie down, groan - sleep happened a lot, waving pitifully in the direction of 'Salina and V happened a few times - I think the Kiwis were operating on the same level as I because some of this was done in front of the Rugby League test match (to keep V company) - it was a non-day.
Today, I am operating on about 150% because I don't feel anywhere near as bad as that - and I am enjoying the delights of being free of such hell.
Oh, and a postscript to my friend's art show:
She was a little too embarrassed to try and find out what had happened to the show, so I volunteered to find the information.
There was nothing at all about it online. I found something about the agency that the counsellor she works with, so rang their umbrella organisation as it was the only available number.
Man, I would hate to be having a Mental Health moment while trying to talk to these Mental Health administrators - if you weren't close to the edge at the beginning, you would be by the end - but after divulging a lot of personal information (bang goes any chance of the paranoid receiving help), having some knowledge of what I was looking for (bye bye to confused mental health patients) and being persistent I finally got given another number of the specific agency I was looking for - as they had no idea about any art show.
So I rang that number - and got straight through to my friend's counsellor. I explained my need to know where the show was, so she told me - very detailed how to get there instructions, including the words "turn left at the railway gates", "don't park in their carpark" and "then ask at the kiosk".
She then said "you then go over to the Powerhouse building" and the pieces all clicked together. She HAD told my friend it was on in the Powerhouse - just turns out its not the Powerhouse we all assumed because its a large state arthouse, theatre and museum - rather the Powerhouse because it indeed was the Powerhouse for the old asylum that now houses the Mental Health facilities they operate from.
Glad we got all that cleared up. Just hope the rich benefactors can find it!!!