This Ain’t Livin’

When I was younger, I thought maturity was something you gained incrementally up until the age of 25 or so. I assumed that it was impossible to be immature beyond a certain age, as it was just unacceptable – you’re an ADULT, for crying out loud.

I know, I know, I know.

Maturity rears its ugly head in strange ways as I age – don’t get me wrong, I still have staggering displays of immaturity, but I’m learning to accept some things for what they are, and try move beyond them.

Like PMS. For the first time ever, I recognized the signs before I acted on it. Usually it doesn’t dawn on me that I’m premenstrual until long after the last duck sauce-laden chicken finger has been hurled across the room at my husband’s head, and I’ve thrown at least five fits related to his irritating and dealbreaking habit of buying the wrong brand of cheese or any number of deadly sins. This month, there was no blowout. I’d feel like that was an accomplishment, if I didn’t recognize that normal people do not throw chicken fingers.

There were, however, other things. Like mind-boggling paranoia, hypochondria and physical symptoms, including my favorite: enormous cold sores. Which plays directly into the hypochondria. This is my fourth outbreak this year, and the year is only halfway done. This, of course, can only enable me to lead to the conclusion that it is a deadly form of cancer, and I have but weeks to live. And, given the already-crampy activity down below, it’s probably uterine or cervical. And I’m overdue for a pap smear so of COURSE it’s got to be cervical. The mind is a terrible thing, I tell you.

So that’s hypochondria. This week, I also had a healthy dose of paranoia. My boss couldn’t have a SINGLE CONVERSATION without me hovering over him, assuming he was talking about me. Like the world is all about ME. I read other people’s blogs that discuss unnamed people who annoy them, and I ASSUME IT’S ABOUT ME.

Apparently, in addition to the already-mentioned symptoms, PMS turns me into one self-centered motherfucker. I couldn’t BE any more appealing right now, no? Don’t you feel like I ALWAYS HAVE PMS? Christ, I do.

But the point is, I recognized it. I guess. No chicken fingers were harmed, and my relationship stayed intact without any screaming or ceremonial (and completely undeserved and hollow) removal of the almighty wedding ring…

Yet.

Pity Adam. Send him good vibes. And a shield for the chicken fingers.

10 comments July 24th, 2005