Once a month or so, my brain gets taken over by something inside of myself. Something strong and powerful. It takes over my body and and mind and forces me to do what it says or it will cause me severe life-altering pain. I have learned to appease this power, for when it takes over, if I do not- my life and the lives of all who surround me become hell.
What I am describing might sound like aliens fall out of the sky in a shiny silver saucer like vehicle with blinking lights and shove a cold probe up my ass that turns me into a pod person so that they can run experiments on the human brain and just how far you can push people before they snap… and honestly, I’d be remiss if I denied that it is pretty close to the truth.
What I am really referring to is THE PERIOD. The dreaded period. I’m sure you figured that out if you actually GET periods, though.
I don’t know that I’d say this is a blog about periods or my problem with periods- that’s all been done before a million times. All those who have one know we hate them (unless we are hoping to get it as an indication that we didn’t go and get ourselves fertilized)- we know there is absolutely nothing fun about them. Wait, I take that back a bit. We kind of sort of have an excuse to be totally bitchy and irrational and slam chocolate and salty foods into our faces for an entire week…. but even with that (as fabulous as that is), it does not outweigh the terror the uterus brings on a regular (or irregular, whatever) basis.
This is a blog on the word PERIOD. I dunno, y’all. I don’t get it. Yes, I know why our monthly internal drop-kicking marathon is CALLED a period. I have the Google. I know how to work it. I realize it is literally referring to a PERIOD OF TIME. Or a PERIODICAL because it comes almost like it is on a schedule. Da doi. Why did it have to be so literal? That does not even come close to encompassing the true power of the menstrual cycle (and seriously, while we’re at it- menstrual cycle? cripes.)
Something that brings women to their knees and turns them into raging banshees while also keeping Russel Stover in business should not be called something as uncreative and unimaginative and… boring… as a PERIOD.
Can’t we come up with something more bad-ass? Something that really encompasses all areas of the ULTIMATE COSMIC POWER that it actually is?
Think about it; every month that we don’t find ourselves GROWING HUMAN LIFE inside of us, we have to discard an egg. Sounds simple- but it isn’t. It’s not as easy as taking a chicken egg in your hand and tossing it into the trash; that would be nice but it’s not the reality of the matter. Our insides get torn down like old fucking wallpaper and we have to discard it while our entire stomach-region locks up. For a week. For some unlucky women- LONGER. We not only have to deal with basically laying the egg, the uterine shedding, the horrid life-ruining cramps, bloating, and wacky “I’m a crazy lady!” hormones- but then we have to deal with the constant flow of blood. for a week just to really put the cherry on top. And let’s not even TALK about period poop, back cramps, and cravings for the most unhealthy things on the face of the earth (get in my belly, deep fried snickers!)
If we want to control all of these things? We have to remember to take a pill every single day, or get a shot, or have plastic crammed up into our hoo-has, or have an implant surgically placed into our arms, or shove a ring up the vag… all of which can have displeasing to downright horrid side effects- like weight gain, blood clots, stroke, and a slew of other insane things you would never think would go along with trying to manage your “period.” – and some women take one of these things just in case the dude in her life is irresponsible and forgets a condom. How HARD is it to remember a CONDOM? How DIFFICULT?
Let’s be serious here-
We women are BAD-ASS. The level of badassery contained within ourselves and how we deal with the shit our bodies put us through cannot be measured. And it deserves a name that matches that.
Aunt Flo? Who the hell even came up with that. That’s not only gross, but assumes this bitch is part of the family. Hell nah.
What did good ol’ Blanche call it on The Golden Girls? The Curse?
Why yes. The CURSE (add in dramatic music and a dun-dun-DUUUNNNNNN) does sound far more accurate than “period.” I always knew Blanche was a wise, worldly woman ahead of her time.
What does that make us ladies who find ourselves inflicted with THE CURSE?
Fucking NINJA CURSE BATTLING WARRIORS! That’s what! Karate chopping uteri from here until sundown. Look out Chuck Norris, you ain’t got nothin’ on this!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shove chocolate into my face so that the uterine madness ceases for the evening.
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