On the Origins of Aggression (Part 2)


For precisely two to three days every month, my body becomes a conduit for all the suppressed rage in the universe. All the pent-up anger in the cosmos, from the very beginnings of its existence—from stars anguished by their increasing distance from their celestial fellows to dinosaurs enraged by the abrupt cessation of their terrestrial reign—find a focal point in unwitting me. Science insists on referring to this phenomenon by the rather innocuous and therefore utterly misleading label premenstrual syndrome.

Now, even at the best of times I’m not the most perky of personalities (a fact which has led people to refer to me as Wednesday Addams—and these are just my closest friends). Add a tempestuous mix of hormones and I turn into Wednesday Addams on steroids. Every single thing turns into an incipient trigger for hostility: nothing goes right, everything goes wrong, and I’m left with the overwhelming impression that the entire universe has marshaled its various resources—including idiotic drivers, derelict roads, offline ATMs and convenience stores missing the ONE salt- and fat-saturated item upon which my sanity depends—against me.*  

In short, it’s really not a very good time.

And what’s even worse is that all of it’s just the prequel.  

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

* On exceptionally bad days, all that stands between me and the world’s wholesale destruction are any of the following: Granny Goose’s Kornets (Original Flavor), Jack ‘n Jill’s Nova Chips (Country Cheddar Flavor), Jack ‘n Jill’s Roller Coaster Potato Rings (Original Flavor), Leslie’s Clover Chips (Barbecue Flavor), Nutritive Snack’s PeeWee Crunchy Snack (Barbecue Flavor), Oishi’s Marty’s Vegetable Cracklings (Hot and Spicy Flavor) and Oishi’s Ridges Natural Potato Chips (Onion and Garlic Flavor). I don’t know what the world would have looked like today if George W. Bush had only had his junk food fix.

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