It’s called PMS. And it sucks. The life right out of me. Along with any desire/inspiration/motivation to do anything. I don’t feel like writing. I don’t feel like taking photos. I don’t feel like keeping my eyes open. It’s ridiculous.
Not only that, but it’s a huge reminder that my biological clock is indeed keeping the proper time; that my body has one essential purpose above all, and that is to procreate. Which is definitely not happening. Not even close. And I feel very badly about this… all because of the PMS. It’s one vicious cycle.
What I don’t understand is the reasoning behind why I’m not able to find a man. I’ve had plenty in the past, but it’s been a long time since. I don’t know if it’s because of the way I look, or the way I act, or what I say or don’t say… but it’s frustrating as hell, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I can usually make myself forget about all of this; I just go through each day, doing what I do… but when the moon is in its first quarter, I can’t stop thinking about how empty I feel. It’s horribly anti-feminist to say this, but I need a man to fill me up. I guess if I was a lesbian, I could say that I need a woman, and that wouldn’t be so insulting to the female species. Anyways- you catch my drift.
I want a man to tell me that they like the “cut of my jib”, and mean it.