This Ain’t Livin’
July 24th, 2005
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.
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
10 Comments Add your own
1. Laura | July 25th, 2005 at 6:26 am
Jonna babe, this is so beautifully written and so funny (in a grimmish way) that you are sure to be forgiven all of your past and future chicken-finger episodes. If I were in charge of the universe… .
xoxo,
L
2. Kate | July 25th, 2005 at 10:10 am
LOL. Once, my brother-in-law removed his wedding ring and threw it at my sister when they were having a huge fight.
She was vaccuming at the time and calmly vaccumed it up. Later, after the make up sex, she insisted that he go out into the dark living room and reach into the dusty vaccum bag and fish it out. He did.
I’ve always thought that was a great little story.
As for poor Adam, I will indeed pray. But I bet he’s used to you by now.
3. mireille | July 25th, 2005 at 10:15 am
But … But … But … I don’t want to accept that the “last duck sauce-laden chicken finger has been hurled” Please, don’t lose that out of your PMS repertoire. It’s just too good. And L’s right about how well this is written. xoxo
4. Yesrie | July 25th, 2005 at 12:28 pm
“I couldn’t BE any more appealing right now, no?” YES! We all speak this PMS language, but you can write it, hilariously. You’re our PMS laureate, and I for one am CHARMED. The only reasons we don’t have airborne chicken fingers around here are: 1) DH isn’t into anything deep-fried OR spicier than béchamel sauce, and 2) PMS is eating my dust since I crossed the crone finish line a couple of weeks ago. My specialty was kicking wastebaskets, slamming doors, and ranting to myself at the top of my voice.
“Don’t you feel like I ALWAYS HAVE PMS?” I don’t, no, but I sure look forward to your reportage when you do have it :> BTW it took me at least 10 years more than it took you to realize that when the world set out deliberately and single-mindedly to annoy me, I probably had PMS.
What can I blame my rants on NOW? ;>
5. Laura/kyahgirl | July 25th, 2005 at 12:54 pm
You are such a funny yet eloquent writer J. I love that.
I feel that I am a veteran of the PMS wars and probably still have another 10 years of them in front of me. And yes, my dh is a SAINT!
I like how we can all relate to this.
Adam will survive, especially if he learns to watch your calendar and you can slip him subtle warnings like ‘ok hon, I’m entering PMS week’. My dh hears that and appropriately goes into his cunning ‘bob and weave’ mode, intended to allow avoidance of lightening bolts and other flying objects! You gotta love a smart man
6. Anonymous | July 25th, 2005 at 3:14 pm
Next time you feel the urge to hurl a duck-sauce laden chicken finger at any one, feel free to send it my way.
Ange
7. lindaarm | July 26th, 2005 at 8:31 am
Jonna, I can’t believe I finally looked up your blog today and BAM this entry could have been written by me! (except I eat the chicken fingers, I don’t fling them
)
I have been having these hypochondriacal feelings as well. I guess it doesn’t help that I’m a nurse and see sickness/death all day. Anyway, your entry made me laugh and I don’t feel so alone with these feelings. Big hugs to you!
8. Parisjasmal | July 26th, 2005 at 4:10 pm
I totally talked bad about you on my blog.
Sorry about the cold sores. That sucks!
xo
Jen
9. WinterWheat | July 27th, 2005 at 8:11 am
Hilarious and insightful, as always. I think maturity means coming to view yourself as your own toddler. You’re in good shape when your internal voice can say “Uh oh, Jonna’s overtired. Time to remove her from the action.” Next time you feel like hurling a chicken finger, just pop in a Wiggles DVD, curl up with your bwankie, and fall asleep with your thumb in your mouth. (Adult female PMS equivalent: Ugg boots worn inside, glass/bottle of wine, chocolate, Bridget Jones’s Diary.)
10. Tania | July 27th, 2005 at 11:25 am
One thing I’ve always found disturbing…people, chickens HAVE NO FINGERS…
Congratulations on being able to self-diagnose your premenstrual madness! You know, I was just thinking the other day of my previous foolish delusion that after around age 25 (what is it about that age?) all youthful illusion would melt away and I would be a Grown Up. I don’t know. I guess I expected to pupate or something similarly definitive.
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