Forecast

My biorhythms are off. There's a whole lot of evidence that points to my being out of synch. Including the fact that I had to retype rhythms like 15 times because I couldn't spell it correctly.
Everything is off today. My ears are all echo-y. The kids are squirrely and it's pissing me off in a disproportionate fashion. M snuck up on the kids and me at breakfast and BOO!'d us. It actually just pissed me off.
I've gone through the usual suspects. But I've taken my medication. I'm not hungover. I don't think I have a cold. Which leaves only one possibility.
Oh, no.
Dread.
Crap.
PMS.
Perfect Month, Shot.

I think for a while, doctors were prescribing Yaz (or another medication with an X or a Z) for people with severe PMS. But I think they found that caused people's hearts to explode or something. They actually have a term for severe PMS, (though doctors have a term for everything) which is PMDD. Pre Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder.

I love that. PMDD. Because BFH (bitch from hell) just doesn't have the same clinical ring to it, does it?

Well, my PMDD is flaring up. And like other things that flare up--herpes, hemorrhoids, shingles--my self-diagnosed PMDD is making me cranky. I can't even stand myself. Lesser humans might as well start beating themselves with shovels when they see me. Save me the trouble of having to go get my shovel.

I'm very very intolerant. And mean. OOOOOO-WEEEEE. Mean. Like one of those horrible rodent things...badgers or wolverines. Snarly, even.

Today's plan was to:

1. Wait for the painters who have come to fix the flood (finally)
2. Pick up the house just a bit
3. Run a load of laundry
4. Shower
5. Head over to the Eastern Shore to let the kids play with friends in the fountains there
6. Pick up something easy to make for dinner
7. Make dinner
8. Go to bed

Today's plan has been amended to suit the shift in my mood:

1. Where the hell are the painters? It's 9:20. I went down to the paint store in the Loop at 6:40 this morning to make sure they had paint to use. The least they could do is get here during business hours.
2. The housekeeper was here YESTERDAY, for chrissakes. How could there be crap to pick up already? We weren't even HOME for most of the day. Ingrates. Slobs. They should pick up after themselves.
3. Heaps. Mounds of laundry. I'll run some towels. At least they don't need to be ironed.
4. Ugh. Shower means hair wash. Hair wash means blow dry. Blow dry means actually taking cool air, heating it, and then blowing it back into the house where we pay to have it cooled back down again. When it's a million and half degrees outside. Sounds like a BRILLIANT idea. But, of course, if I don't blow dry, I go outside looking like a homeless person or Courtney Love. And since I already have a face breakout rivaling that of a hormone-riddled teenager, I should probably stay away from the whole grunge ensemble. I'll look like a meth addict.
5. Herd the little ingrates into the car. Pack the little ingrates' clothing. Make sure there's sunblock so the little ingrates don't get skin cancer. Pack food so the little ingrates don't starve. Haul them across the bay while listening to them bicker and squabble in the back seat. Listen to them complain about how cold the water is/how hot the sun is/too many kids to play in the fountain/not enough kids to play with. Drive ingrates home. Listen to them bicker and snipe in the back seat.
6. Pick up something easy for dinner. "I don't like that. I won't eat this. I want to eat bubble gum ice cream with cookies for dinner." Bring food home. Make dinner. Beg and bribe ingrates to eat dinner. Clean up dinner.
7. Drink. Alcoholic beverage consumption does not actually need to be put on the To-Do list of a non-alcoholic. However, as I am beastly unpleasant to be with (even for myself) a cocktail is an imperative. There might even be more than one. Drink is definitely on the To-Do list of some one suffering from self-diagnosed PMDD.
8. Go to bed. With a heating pad, no doubt. By 9. Yell at the kids who won't be asleep before me. Toss and turn with nightmares generated by the foul vapours of my own body chemistry. Hope for the best.
   

Tomorrow's forecast: ominous, dark, unpredictable thunderstorms of illogical ranting and raving. Followed by irritability and crankiness for the next 5 to 7 days. Then, clearing. Partly sunny. But only partly--did you expect miracles?