flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
It might be a short day at work for me if I don’t stop feeling like I’m about to throw up soon. Or if the nausea gives way to blinding cramps. Screw you, period, you suck. Menfolk, I never want to hear you complain about anything ever because you do not:
a.bleed like a faucet
b. cramp into a ball of agony
c. throw up for no good reason
d. feel like you’re relapsing into major depression
for at least three days out of every month. Fuck you too, non-uterus having menfolk. (I may be a little unaccountably ragey along with being nauseated today.) First person to bring me hot mint tea and a soft bed will win my undying love for at least 6 hours, although since I’m nauseated, they won’t be the six hours you’re hoping for.
Also, politicians who don’t want insurance to pay for my birth control pill? If I were on the pill right now I’d have far less symptoms and be less likely to stab you all with a sharpened tampon applicator in a blind, hormone-induced rage, so consider your choices, asshats.