On Perimenopause...

I have decided the Christian God is responsible for perimenopause. No Goddess centred culture would EVER foist such a curse on a woman. Now people have been accusing me of being bitter around the issue of Christianity so I PROMISE I will not mention anything else about it until my next blog.Well...except for this...if Christianity is INDEED responsible for perimenopause then it is also responsible for my perimenopause induced bitterness. Are you following me? No, I mean really are you actually FOLLOWING me...'cause paranoia is an issue here too!

Anyway...so two months ago I was standing at a TTC stop waiting for a bus and I saw this cloud come over me and slowly and musically ( I think it was an oboe) it descended upon me. Like a wet sweater. Like a wet sweater that smells like mildew and mothballs, 'cause you just know someone has been saving it for you for 45 years, waiting for this precise moment. There is no brass band...('cause I am sure it would drown out the oboe)...no warning announcement...well except for that increasingly painful occasion called The Birthday...it just unceremoniously slides right on over you. Oh, you may have been keeping an eye out for it, looking behind bathroom stall doors, root cellars or the underwear aisle at Wallmart, but you will never see it coming until it arrives.

So, it descends upon me and I think that if I eat I am sure I will feel much better. Okay, so it wasn't a food issue after all...is it PMS? Nope...can't be that. Did I have a bad day and just wasn't aware of it? Nope. I am just in a bad mood for no apparent reason. AND IT HASN'T LEFT FOR TWO MONTHS!!! Occurring concurrently with this moodiness is the sensation that someone is chewing on my nipples. Chewing. And not in a fun way. And the rest of them hurt...all the time...to varying degrees and not in a way I have ever experienced before.

I have decided that all women upon turning 45...or a reasonable facsimile thereof...should be allowed certain freedoms important to retaining even some small bit of sanity to carry them into their 50's. They should be able to scream, at will, at anyone they want...only for the following serious crimes:

1. Rattling candy wrappers on transit
2. Making that noise by sliding spit back and forth through your teeth on transit
3. Coughing...for any reason
4. Nose sniffling...same as above
5. Talking on your cell phone like we are all interested in your break-up
   
6. Being mentally ill...I am sorry...I support you....just not on transit during perimenopause. Especially if you are that autistic guy who sat beside me and rocked back and forth slamming yourself into me, over and over and over again.
7. Eating potato chips...come on...think about it
8. Being that big burly guy and sitting in a seat when I am not in a particularly feministy mood and I want you to offer me your seat. Hey Big Burly Guy! I am from the prairies where they still do that...at least where they actually have transit! I am not a feminist when I am tired, OK???!!!
   
9. Ipods cranked so I can sing along with you, which I would if I could actually STAND THE MUSIC!!! On transit!
10. People talking
11. People breathing
12. The last two items are by far too much to ask!

Also, please be aware and pretend to find it completely and totally acceptable if a perimenopausal woman bursts into tears. It will always be for reasons of the utmost importance like the following:

1. Someone remembering to bring you a granola bar for a snack at a work seminar. Granola is a very important reason to cry.


2. Remembering that Little Johnnie called you a dyke when you were 12. Don't argue with this one. In fact just don't argue, it makes us cry.


3. Cute dogs. Come on, cute dogs make you cry too, it's not just us.


4. "Were you teasing me or did you mean that???" Either way, we will cry, so please wait until we are 55 to resume either.


5. "You looked at me with judgment! I know you did! Just stop looking!"


6. "You never look at me anymore, how rude! What is with that?!"


7. Your girlfriend buying you an "I Love You Sweater" even if she will just do her best to convince you of the practicality of it. You know better. Black turtlenecks are very important reasons to cry. Really! Are you questioning me? I'll cry!

I am sure life will be much easier for everyone once these rules are put in place. Did you look at me funny? Is that a candy wrapper in your hand???!!!

Get your freak on...

I can walk down a wide hall and still manage to crash into a wide doorway. I can't eat a meal without wearing it. I am the person the toilet-paper-stuck-to-the-shoe joke was fashioned for. I excel at tripping while running upstairs--anywhere--but only in front of a large crowd. I am the person drifting off while others are conversing around me, only to clue back in by saying something that has nothing remotely to do with the subject-at-hand. I am the one who came out to my parents and really religious family members by accidently sending them a risque note meant for my girlfriend. Yes...I am a spaz.

I am a spaz who rarely feels at home anywhere...not in my shoes, not in my home, not in this part of the world, not in my skin.

But because the Universe has some semblance of compassion, there are two places I do. The Gay Village and Theatre. In either place I am suddenly in the now and alive to every sense. If you put me in the Gay Village in a theatre, I am someone else. Someone I can no longer ignore. I am no longer a freak. I morph into some kind of fearless, graceful air spirit. The mundane stresses of the world no longer bully my spirit to the back of the line. I am free.

You'd think that would inspire me, wouldn't you? I'm ramping up for it. Honest. It's a big ramp and I have to pause every 10 feet to catch my breath. But look...I am dancing up the ramp...see? Look Ma...no hands!