Ten minute tango

To gain your own voice, you have to forget about it being heard.
Allen Ginsberg
Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com

I’ve had 6 days off in a row, and now I’m back to work, with 10 minutes to write something before the alarm goes off. I really should have been able to write a couple blogs in that time but it’s been busy. And I’ve been bloody cranky. To be honest, since my last post to you that was all rainbows and unicorns, it’s like a switch flicked and it all turned to shit on a stick. Sorry I try not to swear when I write but this is me. I need to stop thinking too much about what the critics (that’s you, dear reader) will think.

I had a massive burst of inspiration the day after my last blog, so much so that I could not sleep. I spent hours tossing and turning in bed, even after scribbling my ideas down furiously in my little notebook. It was after 2 when sleep finally came, and about half an hour later Miss A came into our bed. It was the worst night’s sleep ever. Every movement and every snort she made were amplified and I feel like I never quite got back to sleep. I still have not recovered from that terrible sleep. I went to bed the following night with a sense of dread- what if I couldn’t sleep again? But I did. My laptop was out and I was ready to write, but my eyes were closing, and I knew better than to fight it.

I realised that my moods were consistent with how I was feeling about a month ago- a funk, burst of inspiration, both around the time of a full moon, and both mid cycle. I am very regular these days since removing the Mirena last year. My cycle is about 31 days, and I tend to ovulate around day 15-16 (slightly late). I get big painful cramps with ovulation, bloating ensues, and the crabbiness begins as the progesterone rises. I fucking hate being a woman right now, so strongly governed by hormones. So strongly influenced by concerns about weight and body image. Miss M asked what a certain serum was for when I was getting ready in the bathroom one morning. “Wrinkles,” I said flatly. “Ooooh,” she said with a triumphant air, “so you do care about wrinkles!”

Sigh. You got me kid. I do care. I don’t want to care, but of course I care. I’m as vain as any other person. I just try not to make it the only thing on which I base my self worth, my mood, or my raison d’être.

My ten minutes are up…

Love and light people.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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