Doctor types have been heard to say that testosterone can contribute to extreme fits of anger, but I would also like to throw estrogen’s child-bearing hips into the ring if we’re going to talk about strong, jacked up sentiments.
I have been on some kind of emotional roller coaster for the past week in which I’ve felt, in turn, complete irrational rage; deep aches of sadness; surprising shocks of jealousy; and rare stretches of calm sleepiness.
On my morning commute a few days ago, I felt very hurt by a car that switched lanes so it could go past me even though it had only been behind me for less than two seconds, as if I was some kind of vehicular pariah.
At another low point, I went to the doctor and I felt sad that there was nothing wrong with me, mainly because I had wasted his busy, important time. I just sat in the exam room after he left, staring deeply into the eyes of the models on the anatomical posters, and felt sorry for myself.
Whereas usually my feelings flutter inward and down like mellow confetti, lately they have been shooting upward toward my throat and outward, ninja chop-nuclear fission style!
Oh, not to mention the wage gap still exists. (Which is the only news item I can actually write out due to the acute sensitivity of my horrified heart.)
I guess I can “thank” the moon cycles for all of this loveliness. That and my intuition, which predicted this might eventually happen but with no constructive feedback except to arm myself with a book, a journal, a TV Guide, and a box of Kleenex at all times.
Well, as long as I can get some good angst poetry out of this pity-puddle junket, I’ll consider the tides and myself even.