This happens every month. EVERY MONTH.
And it never gets easier.
Right now all I want in the world is to crawl onto my futon and curl up with a heating pad, preferably with a head full of painkillers and a vodka grapefruit. Instead, I’m at work, in agony, lamenting the fact that it’s only 9:45 in the morning. Fuck.
So I just got back from the drugstore, where I bought two (!!!) packages of those heat pads you put on your stomach, a 60-ct box of Motrin, some gum, and tampons. I ask you, if you were the cashier, would you tell me to “have a nice day”? It seems clear from my purchases that at this point, I’m just going for “tolerable”.
On the upside, though, I got to McDonald’s right before they switched over to the lunch menu. Bacon egg and cheese is so great, once every 21 days.