Things being what they are
ConTuesday, whom I think of not as anything I do myself so much as a willful little monkey creature, decided to take a holiday sabbatical. Of course, besides Groundhog Day, Twelfth Night is the only wintry holiday ConTuesday actually celebrates, but willful little monkey creature see, willful little monkey creature do. Should be back in full force next week.
So I guess in the meantime I’ll just write about myself.
I’m not much of a holiday person because although I’m loyal to my family and will cut you if you hurt any of them, I don’t actually enjoy spending a lot of time with most of them. But this was one hell of a holiday season for chosen family.
Christmas Eve was one of my best in memory. I spent the evening with Oren Regardie and his treasure of a wife, Poppy. She made a completely delicious holiday dinner that I could actually eat with all my dietary restrictions (a gesture that no one else in my life has ever even attempted), we exchanged gifts we were fairly vibrating with excitement to give one another, then crafted and watched hilarious things on a screen while our toy dogs placidly ignored amongst themselves.
New Year’s Eve with them and a few of our newly shared friends was also amazing. We have some kickass eves, we three. I don’t throw around the phrase “living the poly dream” lightly, but there it is right there in the first clause of this sentence.
In other news, I’ve recently figured out how gravely I need to get back on hormonal birth control. This has nothing to do with any distaste for condoms and everything to do with how much time I’m spending per month in abject misery. The ten pounds of water weight I carry before and during each period is annoying but whatever. The intense uterine pain is a little more untenable, and seems to be getting worse every month. The thing that’s really getting to me, though, is the fact that for about half the time I irrationally believe (or part of me does) that everyone hates me and I secretly wish I could set myself on fire for no clear reason. I spend so much time and energy reasoning with myself and talking myself down from acting on stupid, baseless impulses that I’m pretty sure no one else even notices what’s going on, but it is exhausting. And the last thing I want to do is feed into the “irrational hormonal female” stereotype, but despite my excellent willpower and self control, that is the actual problem and it’s getting kind of scary.
So I’m starting to think that hormonal intervention is a literal necessity for me right now; just need to figure out how I can afford it. I wish Santa had brought me robust health insurance coverage, but my period starts in a few days so I’m pretty sure he hates me and hopes I die anyway.