Blame it on The Hormones

“You know when you haven’t had sex for a while and you sort of forget how good it is and you don’t really need it as much?” Izzie asks in Grey’s Anatomy. Cristina glances at her like it’s another piece of the puzzle of Izzie’s personal craziness, and calmly dismisses it. “Yeah –that doesn’t happen to me.” Well… it HAS happened to me. And it must be part of my own personal craziness too. Following my last reported blow up, I pretty much threw my hands up at myself and decided to go find other things to fuck up. Mc Mushy, however, is clearly made of sterner stuff. We had a vicious instant messenger fight, he threw his hands up at the idea of ‘us’, and wished me well. I didn’t blame him. Not a bit. That evening, he couldn’t resist sending me a tentatively feeler. Three days later, we were happy as two clams. That very evening? We were each determined NEVER to bother with the other again.

In short, we’ve had two huge blow ups in the last two weeks, but as I’ve been good enough to admit to Mc Mushy; it’s less him than it is me. I’ve realized after the facts that, aside from my normal (naturally elevated) levels of madness, I’ve also been supremely hormonal. What’s puzzling me so much about this is that, until Mc Mushy, I was pretty much in control of my hormonitas. I had them well in hand. For years, they’ve done their thing, and allowed me to do mine. In the last couple of months, though? I’ve had The Crazies at that time of the month. And by this, I mean crazy even by my own standards. And if anything, they’ve gotten worse.

Like a mental patient, I’ve been so highly strung, I’ve had to literally WATCH myself for The Signs. I’ve moved in extremely tight circles, carefully avoiding any areas where I might come into contact with children, convinced that the next portion of that story would be my face plastered on the news labelled WANTED FOR KIDNAPPING, complete with grainy but clear CCTV video footage of my swiping the tot resolutely into my handbag.

I’ve also avoided eye contact with men, certain that an unwitting smile might provoke pregnancy via some human Bluetooth process. Finally (and a clear symptom of mental instability of some sort) I’ve developed the new tick of pinching myself mightily; biting my tongue had become too painful. The problem? Everything, and I mean absolutely EVERYTHING anyone says sounds dirty to me. In conversation with our IT guy, earlier this week, he mentioned servicing a unit, and there I was, pinching myself, my eyes bulging slightly due to the pain. And there he was, asking me in a tone of concern whether I was feeling all right. Earlier today, discussing a Skype meet with a colleague, he was trying to confirm the correct holes in which to place the two earphone wires, and sent me off again. In short, I’ve been wandering about my life terrified. OF MYSELF. Do you have ANY idea what that’s like?

I’ve said of Mc Mushy that he’s made of strong stuff –but even he had to sigh and voice his fear, just last night, that, if this is the way things have begun… I mean, does it SOUND like “the beginning of a beautiful friendship” to you? Two things, and two things alone are keeping me on the right side of madness, just now. 1) I’m not eating my hair yet, and 2) Things that start off hard DO have a possibility of becoming better. Oh! There’s a 3) too: Mc Mushy and I aren’t fighting RIGHT NOW. We’re pretty good, actually!