I Am One HOT Chick ...

Literally. At the ripe old age of "almost 47", I'm suddenly right in the thick of perimenopausal hell, and let me tell you, I am not at all happy to be here. Strange things are now occurring within my body, rendering me not only a physical wreck, but impacting my mental and emotional states in a most negative manner as well.

I realize I'm venturing into the realm of "Entirely Too Much Information", but I don't care (she said with a surly snarl) -- this is most certainly a matter that affects (afflicts?) the vast majority of women, and I think we need to be able to freely discuss. And vent (lest we kill).

I began menstruating when I was 12, and my periods have arrived like clockwork for more than 30 years. Only recently have they become wildly unpredictable (as have my moods), and it's not much fun playing guessing games ... Will TODAY be the day she finally bleeds? Step right up, folks - place your bets ... Cramps are manifest; there's the telltale zit ... Odds are good, folks -- odds are good ...



The mood swings are outstandingly horrid, and make me nostalgic for the merely bitchy days of PMS. One minute I'm on top of the world, feeling magnanimous towards even the most unloveable. Wait about nine minutes, though, and I morph into unspeakable evil: I could likely eat babies for breakfast. I completely understand the mindset of the oft-stereotyped homicidal, middle-aged woman. I've had thoughts, people ... thoughts that I wouldn't even want to share here, for fear of implicating myself should you ever, say, hear on the news that a group of tourists was met with a hit-and-run fate while innocently navigating a city crosswalk.



Poor Rocky finds himself on the receiving end of my inexplicable anger all too often, I'm afraid. His benign query, "What are we going to do this weekend?" is met with a dagger-like darting of my eyes in his direction and a venom-laced response: "I don't know, alright?!?" How can he stand me? I can't even stand me.



The hot flashes are hellacious, and seem particularly brutal when they arrive in the middle of the night, waking me up with torturous regularity to engage in the "covers on! -- covers off!!! -- covers on!" dance that only serves to exacerbate my problems by adding sleep deprivation to the inventory. I'm almost always late to work in the mornings, since I have to take breaks to go and sit beneath a fan, while the sweat (and freshly-applied makeup) drips from my body as I try to go about my daily routine. Even now, as I sit and type this tirade, I feel my skin prickle and the heat begin to quickly crawl its way up from within my core, perspiration beading on my forehead.

They say that misery loves company, but it really doesn't help much, the knowledge that I'm not alone in this. Nor does it make me feel better to remind myself that "this too shall pass", as I fear it's here to stay for the unforeseeable future. I've now reached the inevitable point of having to make some decisions regarding my health and how I'll proceed from here on out. I'll admit it seems odd to be at this point in my life ... it seems like only yesterday I was first learning to use those feminine products, and now I seldom have the need for them (but they must always be close at hand, just in case.)

And so, at the ripe old age of "almost 47", I'm hot. Just not entirely in the way that I'd choose ... if only I could.