I have been asked in the past if PMS is a real thing. My answer is, oh dear god, yes. I am a crazy bitch.

That being said, we’ll move right along. I apologize to any men that stumble across this. But in the words of Margaret Cho I really don’t talk about menstruation that much, considering how often it happens.

My time of going to work at 4:00 in the am is almost done. I’ll probably still go in at 6:00 am just because I’m used to getting up early now, and I really like being able to leave at 2:30 or 3:00. I find it nice to have an afternoon to play with. I tend to buy comic books with my hard-earned birthday money, but these things they happen. Besides, Wolverine is hot. And Gambit, and Colossus, and Angel, and…oh never mind.

Wow, the construction men are pouring cement outside my window. If they weren’t all big, sweaty, and able to kick my ass I might have to throw a spoon at them. Oh the joys of living in a city. Helicopters, ambulances, construction…and movie theatres, twenty-four hour restaurants, lane bryants, comic books stores…yeah it’s worth it.

So I am twenty-three now. It is certainly an odd age. I’m too old to be young, and too young to be old. I am officially fading into obscurity. It was a very odd birthday—I spent most of it feeling guilty. That was unfortunate. Next year I will definitely try harder not to pms on my birthday. I felt guilty, because for the first time I asked for specific things for my birthday that I actually needed. Not just wanted, but needed. And I didn’t get any of them. I got something very nice that was very expensive and very impractical for me at this point in my life. I couldn’t even fake it for the parents while opening the present. How bad of a daughter am I? Anyway, after a whole lot of drama and questions and anxiety that was wholly unneeded things have been straightened out. I now have all I could ever want and need, am fully aware of the awesomeness of my parents and can’t help but feel guilty over the whole thing.

I am such a girl. But hey, that’s not a bad thing. That’s just me right? I know this. And tomorrow when everything straightens itself out internally the world will make sense again. I promise. It better, or I’m going legitimately crazy. That would be unacceptable. I can’t afford the amount of Dairy Queen it would take to make me better if that were the case.