How to make PMS your bitch. Or be a bitch while PMSing. I'm not sure how this is going to go.

I wish I wasn't one of those women who had to deal with PMS. Or, really, anything except maybe making out with Johnny Depp on a regular basis [how pissed am I that I didn't it make it my mission back when I was young and hot to go after him? I could've kicked Vanessa Paradis's ass].

Anyway, I try and stay on top of my PMS by doing all sorts of calming bullshit, like doing yoga every morning [yes, while watching the news], and eating right and getting enough rest and not immediately telling my husband that I hate every single thing about him and my fervent hope is that he start RIGHT NOW to either change who he is or make enough money so we can divorce and I can break up Johnny Depp's non-marriage to the mother of his children.

Some days it goes better than others.

Yesterday? Was not one of those days.

It began thusly:

Wake up at 5:30am because the alarm went off, even though you haven't gotten up at 5:30am in . . . are we closing in on a year now? Maybe.  Fuck.

Roll over.  Try and fall asleep.  Realize it's not working.  Hate the husband because he's able to sleep.  Hate the wind for blowing a cool breeze into your bedroom.  Hate the fact that your pillows are just a 1/4" out of place.

Give up and get up.

Go get your paper in your nightgown and fuzzy slippers and Helena Bonham Carter hair.  Wave at the passing car.  Who cares? You're married and going to stay that way forever because nothing good ever happens to you.

Do yoga while watching the news and hating Matt Lauer more than anyone on earth right that minute.

Realize you hate Al Roker even more.  Debate going back to George Stephanopoulous, but know that you'll punch the t.v. if you do and you can't afford a new t.v.

Wonder if you'd miss the t.v. if you punched Matt Lauer.

Turn off the t.v.

Eat oatmeal and a banana while going through your email.  End up with oatmeal specks on your keyboard and screen because you can't believe the garbage coming through your email.

Sigh and get down to work.  Hate having to work.  Hate not having enough freelance work to make a dent in your enormous pile of debt.

Wonder if you can have an IPO or a garage sale.  Decide which would be easier.  Probably an IPO, even though you technically don't have anything to offer.

Eat a healthy, balanced lunch of chicken & veggies & undressed salad with only brown rice as your carb.  Put your dish in the kitchen sink.  Return to your desk and begin to do your work [read blogs].  Open two links from your reader.  Get up, go back into the kitchen and get 2 of the homemade chocolate chip cookies the girl made earlier in the week.  Eat them pretty much en route to your desk, which is MAYBE 15 feet away.  Sit down.  Open up a new link, but don't wait for it to finish loading before you jump up from your seat to go back to the cookie jar and snag another cookie.  Start to replace the lid before a hand that looks like yours but couldn't possibly be grabs another cookie.  Manage to get back to the desk before you finish eating them.  Feel sick to your stomach from all the sugar and flour.

Ignore every phone call you get because you cannot handle speaking to one more person today.  They all suck.  Completely.  Wonder why does everyone WANT something from you? WHY???

Eat another cookie.  Feel sicker.  Sigh and put your head down.

Hope that you get your period soon because this is ridiculous.

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PS Freedom winner announced on Friday. GET READY TO RUMBLE, BITCHES.

PPS I'm not even sure what the hell is happening here.