Erica Lucke Dean

"Making the world a better place, one book at a time."

as long as I'm still alive...

Well, it would seem I’ve made it through the worst of it.  And no, I’m not referring to the death in the family. I’m still very sad after the passing of my former mother-in-law.  And I’m not talking about my marital strife.  Because let’s face it…if you have a marriage, you have built in strife from time to time.  No…I’m talking about this month’s episode of, “How the PMS turns.” 

Hormones are no laughing matter. Well…unless you’re Sydney Raine (last night’s guest blogger) who managed to make us laugh at her tale of accidental estrogen overdose.  But while Sydney managed to survive…I was certain I would surely die from my affliction.

Why, you ask?  Well, duh…I was suffering from a life threatening case of PMS. 

But I wasn’t on the war path like months past. I was no danger to the other drivers on the road.  The people at the grocery store had nothing to worry about as I purchased bags of Halloween candy, and bottles of wine.  Even my family was completely safe.  The only danger this month was that I might drown in my own tears as I cried over every single little thing. 

I cried over blogs meant to make me laugh, because I was too sad to find anything funny. I cried over blogs meant to make me think, because I was thinking too deeply. I cried watching Looney Tunes, because it made me remember being a kid.  I cried because I had no inspiration to write, and I was afraid I’d lost the magic.  I cried over a stray piece of candy corn found in a patch of dust in the empty candy bowl, because it was all alone…and it made me think of being alone.  And then I ate it…and I cried because it was stale.  I was so distraught I pulled out the big guns, and listened to Nina Simone on auto repeat for hours on end. 

I cried and cleaned my house.  I cried while I redecorated my entire living room.  I cried as I washed every stitch of laundry including the clean sheets that smelled like dust.  My eyes were so puffy, the world looked funny.  And that made me cry too.

And then my husband brought me a glass of wine.  He eased his way into the room, holding the glass out in front of him like a shield, using his best “soothing” voice.  It was like he was trying to tranquilize the wild beast.  And it worked…for the most part.  It did calm me.  And after I polished off the whole glass, I felt like a new person.  I didn’t know who she was, but she wasn’t crying. 

Then I woke up this morning and I was me again.  A little worse for the wear, maybe.  A little battered and bruised on the inside even.  But still me.  And now that I’m back, people had better watch out.  I’m ready to do a little Daywalking.

Until the next time…I’ll be polishing off that bottle of wine…you know, so it doesn’t go to waste.

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