June 7, 2000 -- 12:25 AM EST

One of those days where it can go either way. It's a new day, so at least yesterday's horrors are over, so my mood could improve, but at the same time, it's a new day and a fresh crop of horrors could come along so my mood could get worse.

You know my brain is frizzled up. The heat index today is 92 deg F, and I thought, "ONLY 92? How namby pamby! That's barely extreme caution on the chart!"

I am highly irritable in the last few days and I am waiting for TOM. I feel like punching people. I feel sleepy all the time, no matter how much sleep I get. Last night, around three o'clock in the morning, we had an argument over nipples. Mine.

"Ow! Don't touch me!" I yell, as he tries to spoon in behind me when he comes to bed.

"Oops, sorry. Sore?"

"Yes!"

"I love you." he breathes in my ear.

"Stop that!" I slap his hand creeping up along my stomach.

"I can't help it!"

"What do you mean you can't help it!?" I slap him again.

"I like to spoon behind you and tuck my hand up under your shirt and snuggle into your neck to sleep."

"Not now."

"I know you are sore but I forget. It's too tempting!"

"What's too tempting?"

"PMS nipples."

"Huh?"

"They stick out and feel neat."

"They stick out because they are sensitive and everything that touches them makes them more sore and I don't CARE if it feels neat to you. To ME, it feels tender and painful."

"It's cute."

"I am NOT cute! I'm irritable. Stop touching me. You are making me hot!"

So, then, I was alternately hot and then cold and then hot and then cold. I had a bad night's sleep. Paul told me this morning I had been rolling around again and hitting him. (He deserved it.)

Tomorrow, we attend nephew's graduation. Earlier this week, I was thinking that I might wear the silver print dress I last wore to a wedding since it's a nice frock. Dressy but play-down-able. About knee length, and no sleeves. So, I'd be cool. Paired with black velvet heels and a charcoal cardigan in case the auditorium is freezing.

Today I have decided to wear black flats, and a navy blue sheath-like dress that goes to my ankles with the slits on the sides to my mid-calf because no way am I going to mess around with shaving my legs, wearing pantyhose, seeking control top panties, managing heels, doing my hair, or applying more than sunscreen to my face. Screw it!

I'm going to be a mess at graduation. I know my sister-in-law will start getting teary about her son, and, of course, so will my mother-in-law, since it's her grandson. Then I'm going to start sobbing as a sympathy response because I am already feeling weepy. So far today, I've cried at a fork. I've cried at the latest free soft-porn installment (Victoria's Secret Catalog came in the mail). I've cried at cat food commercials.

What the hell? Let's keep right on going!

[...]

I feel like the Menstrual Monster!

[...]

Boo!

~Astrophe