I love The Pill. Love it. For the most part. I hate it on Tuesdays, though. Specifically, the first Tuesday of a new pack of pills. Something about the way the hormones work their way back into my system makes that third day of a new month nearly unbearable.
I feel crazy. Like, bitchcakes crazy. And anxious? Oh my God. I'm so on edge all day, I often feel like I'm going to puke all over everyone and everything. Then there's the crushing sadness. Man, do I just want to lay down and cry for like, an hour.
Not even an out-of-the-blue IM from a young marketing professional who apparently thinks I'm alarmingly attractive (I was assured this is a good thing) and get this -- funny -- could bring me out of the funk.
Of course, it always seems like there are other extenuating circumstances that make the first Tuesday even worse. Or the first Tuesday makes the extenuating circumstances seem worse than they are. An overcast sky ... plenty of, well, other things going on today make things seem worse than the actually are. I spent most of the afternoon pining for the gym. Pining, I tells ya.
I felt better after running in to my New Yoga Friend, Molly, in the parking ramp. She got engaged over the weekend. We talked for about 15 minutes (I'm not a gym rat if I've only made one friend in yoga class, right?) and I was pretty stoked for her. She's just the cutest thing. Still, my emotions were so crazy that I nearly started crying. Christ, I barely know the girl.
The workout made me feel momentarily better. I mean, I'm no longer on the verge of tears and maybe I'm only mildly bitchcakes crazy at this point. It's all more of a dull ache now.
At least I know I'll be back to normal in a day or two. Sleep is my refuge now. Besides, I think a day or two of momentary insanity is worth it to keep my uterus zygote-free.