Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Really, With The Boobs? Really?*

*Yes, Stacy Ballis, I'm openly stealing a portion of that catch phrase from you. Hope you're not upset. Imitation, after all, is the sincerest form of flattery.

I've written about my periods here before. They hurt, worse and worse each month, and obviously, August won't be an exception. All day long at work, the only thing I could do (between trips to the bathroom because I thought I would puke) was sit in my chair, doubled over, praying for death to take me swiftly. Apparently, though, the Reaper is enjoying bearing witness to my pain, 'cuz I'm still here, and my ovaries are thump-thump-thumping away. Bastard.

I've been noticing a new trend lately, too. My boobs hurt so much that it feels as if they've been used as punching bags. No "funbags" here, I'm afraid. It's probably a good thing that I'm single at the moment. If anyone came near them, I'd be forced to chop off their hands. Yes. They hurt that much. I've taken five Advil so far, but they haven't even made a dent.

I've decided to drink a half a bottle of Jameson tonight, and pass out until tomorrow. It may not take the pain away, but maybe in the morning my attention will be shifted to a pounding head instead. Anything is better than what I feel like now.

All of this in the name of procreation. Oy. If you know me at all, then you know there's some irony there.


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