vainglory : viscera & spit : circadian rhythms : it's that time again

There comes a point every month at which I am so anemic, so sleep-deprived and anorexic and neurotransmitter-starved, that I have to cosmically and physically simmer down. Or I'll croak. And not with a whimper, but, really, with a croaking gasp, a sudden cartoonish flip from the vertical to mid-air horizontal, arms and legs thrown distally heavenward with instantaneous rigor mortis, tongue lolling, eyes as little x's. A resounding thud, naturally, once gravity wrestles preeminence back from the Dramatic Pause.

In any case, so as to prevent such a spectacular farce of my life's flame out, I have to stop everything/start other things for a few days. I go off all of my meds; I sleep no less than 8 hours a night, if not at any given moment when I can sneak it in, which can be and has been for entire days; I indulge in whatever munching fodder comes my way, order out for my personal idea of comfort food (thai/vietnamese cuisine tops that list). I start up my daily course of vitamins again. I don't bathe.

I rinsed off the bod 4 days ago; I haven't washed my hair in 5 days. I'm wearing my comfy jeans and cotton-candy pink polar-fleece hoodie, and a scarf/babushka that makes me look like a chemo patient.

I'm so very thankful that the weather is unwelcoming; sunshine or warm temperatures would just make me feel guilty for coasting through the day a walking case of hibernation.

Thankfully, these spells typically only last for a few days, a business week at most, and almost invariably correspond with that monthly Girl thang... which is just about at an end. By the weekend, I'll be craving martinis and Canyon Pizza again.

Boo-yah.

Now, it is time for powdered sweetened english-toffee-flavored fake cappuccino and glazed donuts.