LET'S TALK ABOUT P...M...SSSSSSSS
I have intimate experience with PMS...I have learned to fear it,for awhile, the mere mention of it would cause me to clench up and break out in a sweat.
I also learned something about my partners in the past who suffered from...no...took advantage of the fact they went completely psycho once evey 28 days or so and made sure I was the target of every possible pathological delusion/cruelty under the sun.
They were fucked up to begin with.
There was a difference between them and my beloved Ann...In past relationships a lack of butter was tantamount to the grossest infidelity...something I heard about for days,at a volume normally reserved for rage and somehow connected to that root thing that made me unacceptable, a perpetual "fixer-upper" somehow deserving of abuse because after all,there is NO BUTTER and I should know that the stash of butter is my responsibility alone...after all, I am the provider.
I get to READ about Ann's PMS rather than experience it...this is a woman who knows what's her shit and deals with it accordingly, worthy of support for a very real malady.
And her lack of taking it out on me affords me the opportunity to be supportive instead of defensive, loving instead of fearful...I am not cowed by the PMS,rather, I am an agent of relief...happily so.
In closing,let me share a story...no,2 stories about the horror...the HORROR of dealing with women not in control....
I had made plans to visit a friend for the purpose of , well, drinking mostly but we were planning a art show at his house as well...when it was set up my then girlfriend was cool with it...when I attempted to leave the house a few days later,suddenly I couldn't go..."we had to talk".About what I never learned,but it was important.This quickly escalated to her trying to push me down the stairs, to her finally jumping on the trunk of my car as I backed out of the driveway and riding down to the stop sign at the end of our street. The crisis finally ended when she got in the car and asked where we were going.When I said to the fucking state hospital to get your ass committed...poof! end of crisis and she walked back to the house.When I got home there were tearful apologies and hugs...then 5 minutes later my habit of leaving socks under the coffee table was right up there with the batan death march and the holocaust all rolled into one. I soon extricated myself from this relationship.
A few years before in another relationship, I had returned from my annual trip to colorado with the same friend...as we were dividing up the gear in my living room, she cruised through the room,pointed at the AX on the floor and announced "I'd put that away if I was you" before disappearing into her office sporting crazy ass hair and a purple velour floor length robe that added to the david lynch feel of the moment.My friend decided he would get his gear later and left...I did not sleep well that night.
So...my dearest Ann, if PMS has shined it's demonic light on you after all these years and the most you do is write about it...god bless you. I am fortunate.