Okay, I need to emphasize that my last post is STILL true, that I am still in a good, happy place, and I plan on maintaining focus on that.
But can I PLEEEEEEASE tell you about my ridiculous day of EMOTIONS?!
So you know this scene from Friends when Phoebe is pregnant?
That was me today. I kid you not, this was the situation at work today:
Jamie made a joke about us all jumping out the window because we were so stressed.
Nok laughed and just went, "Haha...Asians." (She and Jamie are both Asian.)
And Megan and I burst out laughing. And within 3 seconds of that, I had to actually hold myself back from bursting into tears.
"Poor Emily!" you say. "What could have gone wrong that would make you so unhappy?"
And here is your answer: Nothing. ABOLUTELY NOTHING went wrong. The problem, in fact, is simply that today was The Day.
Ugnnnnnnnn, The Day.
I don't know about other ladies and their struggles with hormones, but here is mine: One day a month (yyyyyyyyyup) I have an emotional breakdown for no reason whatsoever. Poor Joe has been at the brunt end of a few of such days. They usually end in a for-no-reason fight or just with Joe begging me to stop crying and rocking myself and to get out of the corner and eat my macaroni like a big girl.
The weird thing is, I NEVER realize that it's The Day until nearly the end of it. I just walk around for 12 hours thinking, "Why am I upset? Why do I have the urge to go home, snuggle with my new cat, eat chocolate chip pizza dipped in peanut butter and watch 30 Rock because IT'S LIKE LIZ AND I ARE THE SAAAAAAME!?"
Eventually I do realize what's going on. But there's no way to stop it. There's no way to stop the emotions. I just have to keep my head down, eat my chocopeanutpizza and wait until tomorrow, when things will be back to normal. Because how can I go around explaining it to people? How do I tell my male boss that I'm about to get my period, so it's not my insubordinance that is making me snippy about that edit he made, but rather the estrogen floating behind my eyes? And, anyway, I'm a grown-ass woman. I should be able to take a hold of my brassiere and suck it up. Because don't I usually pride myself in my cold-heartedness toward my own copy? Why yes. Yes I do.
But then he looks at me the wrong way and I end up curled up in the fetal position on his floor, cuddling old ads and wondering aloud "why no one loves me anymore??"
So that has been my day. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. As it stands, my new cat, Regina Phalange (yes, I am all about the Phoebe references over here) is helping me cope by laying on a nearby ottoman. I don't know much about her except that she follows me from room to room and meows/scolds me until I either lay down on the couch or the bed. I'm hoping she gets snugglier in the winter, like Charlie did. I think she will.
AAAAAAAAAAND I officially just wrote a blog post about PMS and cats. ANOTHER WIN FOR CRAZY WOMEN EVERYWHERE. God.