Bleeding Hell
Feb. 2nd, 2006 10:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
millionreasonsI understand that I need to bleed. I understand that PMS is not so much pre-menstrual as post-ovulatary and if I egged all month long, I'd be as manic as a coffee-drinking kitten. I am grateful that cramping pain and blubbering during Emmerdale are more products of one's twenties than one's thirties and during the 230 or so periods I have had in my life, I know that health food shops (Black Cohosh=lithium for the hormonal cycle) are preferable to doctors (no I don't want the pill, no I don't want Prozac).
But I don't understand why my body needs to alert me to the fact that I'm about to come on with a head-crushing, nausea-inducing migraine that rebuffs all attempts, from lavender oil to codeine, to assuage it. A gentle nudge, the corporeal equivalent of a memo, maybe a light prickling of the upper arm, would be enough to remind me I need to take a sanny towel to work tomorrow.
I think I'm going to tell my boss that I intend to cash in all the maternity leave that I'm never going to take and have 12 menstrual days off per year. It would be a lot cheaper.
Bloody Feminists.
But I don't understand why my body needs to alert me to the fact that I'm about to come on with a head-crushing, nausea-inducing migraine that rebuffs all attempts, from lavender oil to codeine, to assuage it. A gentle nudge, the corporeal equivalent of a memo, maybe a light prickling of the upper arm, would be enough to remind me I need to take a sanny towel to work tomorrow.
I think I'm going to tell my boss that I intend to cash in all the maternity leave that I'm never going to take and have 12 menstrual days off per year. It would be a lot cheaper.
Bloody Feminists.
