Wednesday, July 27, 2011

I Bleed.

Ok. I am almost 100% sure you won't really want to read this... but go ahead. Curiosity killed the cat, but what a way to go.

I want a Red Tent. I want an escape or maybe I want a refuge. I don't know how other women mask their symptoms of pre-menstruation, but I? I feel like the process of shedding blood from my body is something that takes on a life of its own, if you will. I cannot ignore the processes. I feel the shifts and transitions my body takes and makes and I find it hard to focus on much else.

The other day, for example, with my (period) due at any moment, I found myself edgy. I was in tears at least once if not more. And of course, that was the day when I had a friend in town for a brief visit. That  was the day a neighbor stopped in to welcome us to the neighborhood. That was the day when everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Or was it just me?

Weep blood. Emit. Release. Isn't it exactly that? In a way. A little too much to take? Possibly. But nonetheless true. The blood that would have nourished a human life is about to flow from me. Not just any human life, but a child. My child. Our child. But no baby. Only the blood.

This is not a lament about having no more children. Maybe my body is sad that there will be no more where the first two have been. I have come to terms with that. I don't really mind at all.

What I mind is that my body is going through these physiological surges and I cannot seem to make it work in a way that doesn't leave me frustrated. The demands of life around me seem to stab at me with an annoyingly pointed edge. I want to fade away for the duration. I want red walls. Red curtains. Soft sunlight. Wine. Incense. I want sleep and iron-rich foods. I want to be replenished as the life-blood leaves me yet again. It's only a little, but in comparison to what?

So, I want my red tent. I want to be surrounded by women who get it. Women who feel the way I feel. I want to be cut off from the world. I want peace and quiet. I want rest. I want understanding.

I see women go by my front door. I wonder where they are at with their cycles. What elements of their day are effected by their loss of life-blood? Is there sorrow? Is there grief? Relief? Is there pain? Elated mood? Deflated mood? Nothing at all? How many masks we all wear.

Some say there are times when PMS is considered to be out of control. Drugs are prescribed. Everything becomes controlled when women go into a form of hysteria and/or depression during their cycle. Otherwise, sleep cycles are interrupted. Households become war-zones during that one precious week of the month. Husbands become something "other". No longer lovers or comrades. Enemies treading on every last nerve. Even my son (who was 8 at the time) pointed out that mom and dad only argue about "once a month". Astute observation, Little Man.

I would like to be left alone in those days leading up to it. I would like to be able to tell my friends or family that I am going to go on a retreat... I'll be back when I feel more like my regular self again.

Ah, to dream. I had once planned to build myself a shack in the back of the woods when we actually lived in the woods. I was going to go there to stay at times like these. Leave my family alone for a while. Take a breather. Let it flow... Watch out for bears. Paint my face black. Hunt. Stalk. Feed.


But I didn't do that. And now it's too late. So?

So. So. So. I can't hunt within town limits and the brook behind our new house has been fished clean. Damn.

Obviously I am joking. I have never hunted in my life.

Maybe I will just grab a good book and a blanket and call it a day. Maybe I will go to bed and stay there for a while. Maybe I will eat raw steak (ew--ah? no?). What I will likely do is continue ranting until it is all over and the sun shines in my soul once more, put the she devil to rest for another month. Good night full belly. Full moon. Go away. Come back another day. About 28 to 32 days from today, in fact.

Regretting this last few minutes with me? No? Good. Now the rest of this post is about something entirely different.

In the literary news? I just finished the book Helen of Troy by Margaret George. Wow... what a wonderfully tragic story. I enjoyed this book so much I could not put it down. It was amazingly good.

Now I am reading The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens. I think it's going to be entertaining.

Still working on my painting (the big one). It has evolved into a depiction of Helen and Paris. Love... sweet sweet love. There was a moment or two within the story of Helen of Troy, amidst all the death and destruction, where their love was a beautiful thing. I decided that was the element of the story I wanted to capture. Sparkle. Gold. Silver lights. It's going to be very very pretty.

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