whine, gripe, moan, cry, smile

Aunt Flo(w), the witch, the hag, the monthly, period, menses, curse from Eve. Call it what you will, it is here. I guess I committed some great sin. I suffer more than most from Eve's curse, but am not blessed by the fruit of it. The "sorrow of conception" that God promised her will not visit me. In this moments, my illogic assures me that my parents and Bible teachers were right and I am being punished for my rash action: marrying that heathen and subsequently turning heathen myself. To borrow from Jimmy Stewart, "that's what I get for praying." And if that's not enough, there's the cruel trick of raising my hopes and making me think I might be pregnant every month with breasts large as cantelopes and sensitive as an open wound for a week. If I'm lucky I'll make it through this one without the narcotic pain relief that I usually need. I guess my body is crying over its failure too.

I am blessed to have the arms of my husband to run to. In his eyes I have no shortcoming; I see only sympathy for the pain he knows I feel in my body and in my heart. "Go ahead and cry" he assures me. j. is confident that one day we will have our own child. I know we will adopt someday if we don't. For now, I just thank Fate that I'm not miscarrying, that we have a wonderful life, that every day brings new happiness, that I have friends who will suffer my lunacy and listen to my tears, that a kitty is always ready to curl up on my lap and ask silently, "Mommy, why are you crying?" Because they know when something is wrong, they are empaths, my daughters.

I hope I can restrain myself from consuming the whole six pack of Amber Bock by the time my company gets here this evening. Maybe Fate is smling on me after all, and maybe by some Felicitous Fluke it will happen next month- that crazy cell collission that we worship at the altar of. I think I'm getting drunk and I have no idea whether I spelled collission right. I better go. Thanks for listening. (If you made it through.)

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