It is Thanksgiving and my ovaries are celebrating, wildly. They've shaken themselves into spasms of delight. Oh, I adore being a girl.
Luckily, we have liquid gel ibuprofen and nothing do do but bake and go to Grandma's house at three. I've got four dishes working, only two they're expecting, but I was motivated to make cranberry relish and a corn pudding (experimental and only going to the party if it turns out) on a whim. They know I'm bringing a butternut squash dish and green bean casserole.
The apartment smells great and I am guessing this will be one of those periods where I inhale food constantly. Today I can do that without shame. I am totally wearing my fat jeans.
Last week, my cold sore returned. This one is nasty. I had hoped it would be gone by today but it cracked and bled this morning. So I am bloated, crusty lipped and tender over every square inch of my body. I thank God I had the day off. If I were working in this state, I would snap or cry. Strangely, my psycho hormones have not been acting up all week. I didn't drink at all for two or three days and I gulped water. I think this health stuff actually works. I felt really good. Of course I drank a bottle of sauvignon blanc last night, so the ibuprofen is working double duty.
I wish I could throw a paper bag over my head and call it a day. I don't want anyone to actually look at me.
