I am. Truly. I didn't know that I was receiving a constant stream of hormones, therefore I didn't know what would happen when said hormones were no longer there. I don't mean to scare small children or make my husband fear for his life. I didn't know that road rage could be taken to new levels. Nor did I know that pictures of puppies or toilet paper commercials, or hell just the fact that it's Friday were things to cry over. I just didn't know.
Dearest husband: I know you don't understand why I am a nut job, and I know you don't think it's fair that you now need to fear for your life. This morning you said that you think I should be able to see that I'm losing it and "corral" it, which led to silence. Please understand that I know I am irrational, and my silence is me "corralling." So when there is silence after something, please, I beg you, MOVE ON. Because once I have maintained and kept quiet for a full two minutes, and you follow that with "what?" I can't control what happens next, but it is bound to be horrifying. I do know that use of the word corral brought forth visions of hog-tying and leaving you for the animals to feed on. I know you don't understand, since you are a man and don't have any of this craziness. And I am sorry. And I can see from a removed perspective that I am absolutely losing my shit, but I can't do anything about it. At all. It's kind of like a mini-me is sitting on my shoulder, in a big fluffy recliner, eating popcorn and watching the show.
I love you for hanging on to this roller coaster that has no restraints, and I promise that I will try to tame my homicidal tendencies until my body balances itself out. Until then, please try to understand that I have just as much control over it as I have over......................world peace, starving children in whichever country people are using to make their kids eat their veggies, and the national deficit all wrapped into one vertically challenged body.
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