One of those days

Argh, I've had one of those pointlessly annoying days, where you wake up to the sound of screeching birds beneath your air conditioner (they're back), and you amble into the living room to try and get a few winks in to the soothing sounds of the TV Guide channel, only to realize that the various animals you willingly share your place with are not going to show you the courtesy of SingTFU, so you do your internet rounds until the very act of being awake starts to piss you off, an then you retire again to the couch, where you nap until 11, which is perfect timing because it means you can watch a string of Dirty Dancing: The Series, which you didn't eveh know existed but now suddenly you can't turn away from.

And as 3 p.m. rolls around and you realize you haven't gotten off the couch, much less made it to the gym or anywhere else as planned, you wince at the heaviness in your gut — a mixture of cramps and frosted mini-wheats — and stay horizontal for as long as possible.

It's not until you get in the shower that you realize you're in too lousy a mood to even dry your hair. This does not bode well for the evening. So you throw on some frumpy shirt and try not to blow up at the only person (in this case, Phil) who even dares to be around you on such days. And everything, everything is ripe for ridicule. And, still, the mere act of being awake is making you angry, so you can't help but think of ways to remedy such an inconvenience.

The only thing that seems to soothe is cheap pinot grigio. And some precious alone time.

I don't have a lot of stereotypically PMS-y days, but when they hit, they hit hard. With luck, this will be my last for several months.