One Small Thing by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

Nothing's a small thing. It all flipping matters.

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Because of the kidney and anemia scare of late February, I have been the purest form of human being of late.  I could be an astronaut, I'm so clean--no drugs (ibuprofen, please), no alcohol, much less caffeine.  I'm all about the leafy greens, the prunes, the wholesome everything.  I am a body unmitigated.

So this month, watching the arc of hormones, I truly saw what those little mischief makers do to me, this clean, clear, peri-menopausal woman.  You'd think I was 13, or something.  You'd think Michael would have left me or something. 

Last night, I went out with some friends for dinner and then to the theater to watch a few short plays.  I dragged my body there, feeling like a sledge hammer had battered me for a few hours.  The green tea perked me up, but by the end of the evening, I was in tears, and it wasn't from the acting or the plays.  I was just crying.  When I arrived home, I was so upset over absolutely nothing and then I fell asleep.  Only to awaken with a migraine.

Now what purpose all this?  For god's sake, I don't need this arc of pain-in-the-assness.  Turn the damn stuff off!  Of course, it's nice to have the hormones flowing, the bones stay strong, the hair stays full.  But really, what a waste of energy.

I will persevere.  I'm off to work, my eyes feeling punched in, my head a throbbing.  By mid-day, the headache will be but a memory that I will only remember next month, when this happens again.

Whoever figured out this system really needs a good talking to. 

Jessica