Tuesday, 8 October 2013


A while ago I said I wouldn't talk about periods again.

I lied.

I would like to discuss how it feels right now inside my womb.

With my ovaries doing some kind of version of Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance, complete with clogs and repetitive and endless dance moves. In tandem. With them feeling like they're going to bust out of my stomach, like in Alien, except without the cutesy face and squeaky noises. With the feeling like if I don't start my period RIGHT now I will grab a spoon and hoist the bastards out myself, throw them at the window pane and watch them slowly slide down like those sticky toys from the 80s.

Waiting on the cusp of shedding my womb lining does not do much for my sunny disposition.

It's an almost exquisite sense of impatience, which starts in the womb. It's like the womb gets nervous and starts hyperventilating. Doctors in the 19th century used to think one's womb could 'escape' and leg it around the body like a runaway ferret, causing all sorts of problems and hysteria and general women's things.

And to be honest, that's probably one of their more pertinent observations because that's sure as hell what it feels like.

It's just a good thing I don't have access to weapons. Is all I'm saying.

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