Just got out my calendar and counted to 28, my pen moving number to number from November into December. The relief of having an explanation! This crushing sadness does not mean that I actually hate my life and all of my loved ones - it's just PMS again, with the big 28 on the horizon. And it will pass.
But knowing it will pass doesn't make it much easier to endure, since I know this is only the beginning - soon the pain will come, the sleeplessness, the painkiller haze, the fatigue, all layered on top of this sadness, anger and irrational resentment. I could find a reason to resent kittens right now, gumdrops, rainbows, what-have-you. I received a particular kind of hug yesterday that infuriated me for hours.
Good news that I should be able to summon some elusive holiday cheer by Christmas. Until then, duck, and hug carefully.
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