Apparently, hormones have taken control of my mind.
I tried numerous times to concentrate and think of something interesting, poetic, or even mildly amusing to write about last week. Instead, I found myself frantically stuffing food in my face, falling asleep, or dreaming of making out with Leonardo DiCaprio (sick, I know, I could be his mother.)
Yes, every month I go a little crazy, and it’s happening again…..
This hormone-induced writer’s block I am experiencing has become my inspiration for this column, and no, I’m not talking about night sweats, head aches and cramps.
I’m talking about the really coo-koostuff like elaborate plastic surgery fantasies, forgetting to pick the kids up even though you have done it every day at the same time for the last four years, unprecedented laziness, and extreme emotional instability brought on by the mundane details of life that otherwise go ignored.
THAT’S what I’m talking about.
It all started early last week.I could feel a case of “wacky” coming on, and although I tried to mentally prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught of hormones, I started to spiral out of control just after lunch.
Here’s how it all went down:
1:00 pm– Check e-mail.Gasp!An e-mail from a magazine editor!Open, open!Groan… just an Automated Out of Office Reply.Must find something to eat.
2:00 pm– Need to send out more columns, but what’s the use, I suck.Need to find something to eat.
3:00 pmÔÇô Buy more food.
4:00 pm– Maybe if I make chicken enchiladas for dinner, my family will still love me.
6:00 pm– C’mon everyone!Hot fresh chicken enchiladas!Isn’t mom great?
6:10 pm– Still trying to dig an enchilada out of the pan.Forgot the non-stick cooking spray.Enchiladas are enameled to the dish.
6:15 pm — Give up and dig the chicken goo out of the enchiladas and serve it in a plop on the plate.Hate myself.Kids start getting scared and claim to like the goop as they spoon itfromtheir plates.
6:45 pm– Begrudgingly wash dishes.Can’t chisel the baked on tortilla out of pan, so fill it with murky water and set it on the counter for next day.Wonder if belt sander is still in the basement.
7:00 pm — Give in to daughters’ requests to watch TV the rest of the night in bed.Donald Trump would fire me because I suck. Must eat chocolate.
7:15pm– Shove Dove chocolates one by one into face. See that each one has a cutsie little saying on the inside of the foil wrapper, like “Remember to exhale.Debbie — Pollock Pines, CA.”Hate Debbie for being published.Resolve to publish the next chocolate wrapper: “Remember to wipe.Lisa ÔÇôPatch Barracks.”
7:30 pm — Husband home late from work.Spots Tupperware filled with the leftover chicken goo, and comes to find me.Like a scene out of the Exorcist, I am on our bed panting.He cautiously asks how my day went.I begin speaking in tongues.
10:30 pm — Fall into fitful sleep.Nightmares about revealing embarrassing personal information in my columns for nothing.
6:15 am– Curse the alarm.Must have a better day.Must keep at it.
6:30 am– Look in mirror.EEGADS.Grab old bottle of foundation from back of make up drawer. Smear around eyes to minimize sunken effect.
7:30 amÔÇô Plastic surgery fantasies.
8:00 am — Sit down and try to write another column.Oh, Leonardo…
8:30 am– Must go to spin class.Skip spin class.Must go to spin class.Skip spin class. Must go to spin class.Skip spin class . . ..
9:10 am –Arrive 10 minutes late for spin class.Everyone stares at me as I fumble to get on a bike. I’m such a loser. They are all wondering who the old lady is and why she can’t be on time. Can’t wait for lunch.
9:20 am — Sweating like pig.Forgot towel. Use my shirt to wipe face. Look down and see that the old foundation has created a “Shroud of Turin” on my shirt. I’m such an idiot.
10:00 am — Spinning done. Feel better. Must go home and write.
11:00 am — Sit down to write column. Sleepy . . ..
12:00 pm — Must eat lunch. Shove huge bites of turkey & Swiss sandwich into mouth with handfulsof “hint of lime” tortilla chips. Turn tortilla chip bag upside down to pourall crumbs into mouth. Crumbs stick to bottom, so shake bag. Lump of crumbsdislodges and falls in my face and lap. I’m an idiot.
1:00 pm — Sit down to write column. Sleepy . . ..
Later after a second round with the chocolates, I realized that the hormones were not just ruining my life, they were giving me fodder for a new column.When life gives you lemons, as they say.Better put: when life gives you hormonal self-loathing and borderline suicidalinstability,roll withit!
Lisa,
Writer’s Block BECOMES you!!!
I laughed through the whole piece!
It was another hilarious, fast-moving “ride” that I didn’t want to stop. THANKS!
As if your blog was not making me roll on the floor enough, Grace’s comment was the proverbial icing on the cake.
I am forwarding this to a couple of friends… and sharing on facebook.
Keep writing… and getting blocked/ unblocked… 😀
Dagny
Share away, Dagny!
Ah,just when we thought Mad-Cow disease was under control, it rears it ugly head in Stutgart. Have you ever thought how a Nun handles PMS? Or the poor repressed women in other countries? Very funny, Lisa, keep up the good work. Have I told you lately that I love you? Aunt Char
Mad Cow? I resemble that remark! Love you too, Aunt Char.
Well done and I totally hear you on the hormones. My husband has definitely eaten things he otherwise would not have after he saw thee look on my fave. I laughed till I cried when I saw “Julie and Julia” when she lies down crying on the kitchen floor. Siiiigh.
Absolutely hilarious. I actually fell out of my chair laughing so hard and I am wiping the tears away still. Thank you!
Perhaps I need to ask readers to sign a disclaimer? Now don’t go and hurt yourself!
Yet again, I nearly peed myself laughing. ItÔÇÖs good to know that I am not alone in this insanity. BTW, did all this happen before or after you gave your incredible talk to more than 50 women at MOPS?
Break out the Poise pads! My writer’s block was immediately after my talk at MOPS, thank goodness, or I would have been standing up there twiddling my thumbs for an hour!
Geez, that sounds like my life without the hormones…
OK, now THAT’s funny!