I can't wait for menopause. I don't really know what it is, but I believe it means my uterus* will stop spitting out eggs, and along with them my sense of emotional balance. Thanks to the mysterious science of hormones, I become somewhat unhinged around one week per month, albeit in quiet ways. You can tell if you find me, eyes brimming with tears, as I watch the news, read the news, or am told about any news. Which, yes, qualifies every fucking day since November 11, 2016. But it gets a lot worse for a few days before my monthly bleed-out. I regularly cry. I regularly suffer from a short temper. Even though I am close to 40 and have a single strand of silver hair, I get a case of the goddamned pimples. It is not fun for me, or my partner. The only upside is that I also feel very creative, which sort of pairs nicely with the horrific insomnia I also endure during my body's pre-funk. Assuming I choose to get out of bed. I usually do not. Which brings me to the intense ...