Warning, Estrogen Filled Post Ahead...

Well, that was a brief hiatus. I swear, this blog is rather reflective of my life right now: confused, chaotic, without direction? I thank everyone for their comments, emails and support of late. Some have said to rest, some have said to keep blogging, some have just "been there" and commented. And people are still out there, frighteningly enough, reading this! I still don't know what to do. So I guess I shall keep living (and blogging--or deciding about it) day by day.

So I woke up with a real clanger of a headache this morning. At first I thought it was a migraine as it hurt that bad and I had good old "shovel neck." Did one of these two guys try and "whack me" while I was trying to sleep?

My period should be here. Any.Minute.Now. But more on that later. It made me wonder...oh dear, could this be some sort of PMS-induced migraine? Oh shit, I hope not. With my wacky noodle, what next, Catamenial Seizures? Good thing, one of the meds I already take (Clobazam/Frisium) seems to be the drug that's just the ticket for that. If you're in the US, try Diamox/Acetazolamide as apparently that has shown some promise in this area and Clobazam isn't FDA approved.

Now my period can be quite the prima donna. Oh, I know she's coming. I have plenty of warning signs alright. But she always keeps the audience (me for the most part) impatiently waiting with no respect at all. But as a longtime subscriber to all of her shows, I can't ever seem to get my money back.

I will sit in the front row, as I always do, surrounded by many other women. Sometimes there are a few gents there as well but they are usually bored to tears or asleep, snoring loudly. Finally, at long last, she takes the stage! Her performance is always terrible, horrendous! I don't understand how she gets such rave reviews the world over! She is called a "gift," a "miracle," "something everyone should be proud and honoured to have bestowed upon them!" I slump down in my seat a bit longer until I can't stand it any more.

I remove myself and waltz out to the box office in the foyer and demand (yet again) my money back for this so-called "performance." I am treated like a lower-class frump for not appreciating the prima donna's beauty and grace and all of her ethereal and natural qualities. I scream at the box office attendant (for I do now feel like a lower class frump as I have become irritable, bloated and in pain ever since the prima donna first set foot on stage.) It's of no use. I can not get my money back. But as I storm out the door, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The ticket agent slaps in my hand my next month's passes to the theatre to enjoy yet again, my prima donna's next appearance.