The Revenge of PMS

I wonder… if God is so real and all pervading, why is it so hard to feel that all pervading goodness sometimes?  Hmmm, maybe it’s not… Maybe it’s called PMS.  Yeah… That’s it.  If I put any effort, whatsoever into seeing the good, I would have to quit my day job because I’d be so overwhelmed by the never ending flood of beauty and auspiciousness.  Three little kids just sat at the bar to my left (Pizzaiolo).  They all looked diminutive on their bar stool chairs… their chins barely rose up above the counter.  Child faces… skin so pure and radiant.  Effortless presence.  Morning buns dusted, dirty with sugar.  My tea!  (I’m on coffee-cation)  My tea is deep and rich like fertile soil.  Creamy fertile soil.  Sweet fertile soil.  Caffeinated fertile soil!

I will let myself be swept away by the enchantment of liquor bottles.  Sitting at the bar, I am facing the liquor collection.  Did you know the enchantment available by just simply studying all of the creatively shaped vessels of glass, filled with rainbow spectrums of intoxicating potions?  Glass catches light, shines in mystic lines and shimmers inside my wistful eyes.  Liquor bottles.  Frivolous apothecary.

I woke up in a fog.  Yerba mate did not wake me up.  I was tempted to cry over the spilled milk latent in every unholy instant.  When it was my turn to order at Pizzaiolo, I found sadistic pleasure in the baristas’ fresh state of dismay.  They reported that they were both tortured by the music playing.  “Why are you playing it?” I asked, confused.  (Normally, they are the ones in command of the ipod.)  Turns out the owner is in today and whenever he is in, he plays this one particular, employee loathed latin-esque album.  It sounds like Buena vista social club… Maybe it is… but it’s not the usual one that everybody knows… you know, with that song, “los gardenias para ti”… Honestly, I really wanted to not like it, so I could participate in the celebratory occasion of hipper than thou musical snobbery.  But truth be told, I like it better than most of the noisy junk they play here.  They pointed playfully disdainful at their oblivious boss, who was blissfully toiling away in his food prep coral.  Overt was his oneness with the funky latin beat as he moved like lightening, flipping mystery contents in large, hot skillets.  Now he is dumping an entire bottle of white wine into a steaming cauldron.  Anyway, I smirked inside to see that not only was this benign discord fully alive inside me, but it was thriving like a fungus in a most pocket of creation on the outside too!  Phew.  All is well.

I left the house with very tangled panties, because Mykael informed me that he might not go to the gym with me.  We already skipped it on Tuesday, due to his studious overwhelm.  (He’s taking a Kaplan course so that he will finally pass the Nursing boards on his THIRD try.) (Ahhh, I have this bratty piece of oatmeal lodged between my teeth and my tongue is obsessively trying to dislodge it.  It’s amazing I’m managing to get any writing done.)  So Mykael promised me that we’d go on Thursday… and then this morning, he balked.  This pissed me off.  And on top of that, I slept with his Vaayu Shrutri Journey Stone again, and again I had scarcity and anxiety dreams, so I woke up feeling bound by my own wounded consciousness.  I want to believe in abundance.  Thought by thought, Athena.  Okay.  God, please HELP ME rest into the unbounded abundance within me, without me, all about me, right now!

With that, Athena grew taller than the sky and bold as the sun, though cool as moon breath.  Hot as orange coals, she whipped a roll of Glide Comfort Plus floss out of her backpack and dislodged the aforementioned oatmeal shard from between her molars.  SURPRISE!  It was actually a pecan bit!

Anyway, listen~ I just wanted to poke fun at myself for being such a moody jerk this morning.  PMS is so amazing, I can hardly believe what a little hormone spike (or is it a dip?) will do to a body… I broke in a deluge of tears and barf when I found out that Mykael was revoking his gym promise (It alchemized into an anxiety ridden “maybe”.  Fuck that.)  The world collapsed on top of me, and I tried to forge ahead with life as previously scheduled, despite being ensnared in a net of ceiling and sky and purple-black clouds.  My heart felt paralyzed by disappointment, which made it oober difficult to be generous and kind.  Woops.  I was SOOOOOO tempted to leave the house without saying goodbye to my mister.  But that was two notches too shitty, so I managed to slink into his room, coated in a fog of pout and ache and give him the [official] world’s LAMEST kiss in the lips, before vanishing into the cruel world at large.

He texted me once I got settled in my “office”.  I had wanted to text him, but I couldn’t bring myself to muster generosity.  Thumbs down, eh?  Yeah.  I give that seven thumbs down.  (One for every day of the week.  One for every dwarf.  One for every deadly sin.)  But I was moved by his step toward me.  Sometimes I feel astounded by his tireless generosity.  I LOVE IT!!!  But I also sorta expect it, which I hate to admit, because that’s just WRONG.  I shouldn’t expect such tireless, crystalline devotion when I act like such an indulgent baby.  But I do.  And thank Saint Mykael, he delivers like only a saint in training would. (Just for the record, though, I texted him back in [tortured] poem form.  Then he replied to me with a poem-text.  And the next thing I knew we were in a hot and heavy poem tennis rally.  Sending and receiving poem texts is massively rewarding.  In fact, I shant ever send a plain old utilitarian text ever a-gain…mostly.  Try it.  Your life will become instantly spicier, or your money back, guaranteed.)  I should send myself to “time-out” and count my blessings, and not let myself come out until I have EVERY SINGLE ONE accounted for!  Well, in that case, I’d better sign off now, because I really have my work cut out for me.  Wait a sec… I would spend the rest of my blasted, holy life counting… and still die incomplete… is there any end to the blessings?

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3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. dan bundy
    Jun 03, 2010 @ 20:46:59

    This is one of your Jems. So funny and real at the very same moment…And you know how I like the “moment”. I love you and your mind Athena. Will you marry me? No that would only last for the Moment. Seriously, you are so much the writer that I am more than jealous…I am concidering ending my writing career. Oh, do I have one, well No but if I did then i would end it just because Noone could define writing as you do. Love n cuddles.
    Dan

    Reply

    • Athena Grace
      Jun 03, 2010 @ 21:08:26

      You totally have a writing career, what are you TALKING about?!?!?
      It just happens to exist in the Closet.
      Not for long~
      Hey EVERYONE!!! Dan has a writing career!!!!
      Consider yourself outed.

      Reply

  2. souldipper
    Jun 03, 2010 @ 21:56:42

    Hey Dan – You must be a writer to catch AG’s attention when she is in the Land of Time Out & CTBs. It’s very hard work getting to that Land AND grueling work getting off one’s own back while dancing the PMSamba.

    Makes her completely and devoutly a lovable human being. Not to mention creative.

    Hopefully the closet will be too small for you soon,
    Amy

    Reply

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