Even though we have had another non-winter and more sunny days than usual, the season is beginning to grate on me a bit. Late winter tends to crank up the vestiges of SAD (seasonal affective disorder). I don't descend into a major depression; it's more accurately described as ennui. Which is a clever French word that describes someone who's simultaneously a bit bored and a bit depressed.
And since Valentine's Day is tomorrow, I am busy feeling sorry for men. (Except Ian*, who knows he's off the hook.) It's a silly, depressing occasion for several reasons. There's no chance of a spontaneous gesture of affection, the stores are full of stupid balloons and teddy bears, and a depressingly large percentage of women will be pissed off in juvenile fashion if their significant other doesn't present them with some tawdry gift.
Lastly, an occasionally unpleasant aspect of perimenopause snuck up on me last week and attacked with a vengeance. I woke up last Monday bleeding so heavily that it looked like someone had filmed a slasher movie while I slept. (These occasional mega-periods are actually called "flooding" by gynaecologists.)
Tuesday I was in so much pain that I got very little done. But the worst happened Wednesday afternoon, when I discovered mid-afternoon that I had actually bled onto my office chair. This is the sort of thing that happens to 13-year old girls, not card-carrying members of the AARP. Thankfully I was wearing black pants, but I ended up staying until everyone else had gone so I could attempt to clean the blood off the chair. I wasn't able to do this very well with the supplies on hand, so I finally switched the chair out with one in an unoccupied office.
But things are looking up. I think I may have actually bullied the boss into a decent raise and it's become easier to find new homes for my foster cats. Onward and upward, wimmin, and don't forget to download the Make America Kittens Again extension for your Chrome browser.
* See The Usual Suspects.