Days to B.E.E.R.: 15
Reunion Days to Pack For: 5
Number of outfits being brought: 426.
Boys who will become squicked by the following entry: Many.
I have a headache, and it's threatening to spring forth from a pulsing vein behind my eyeballs and manifest itself as some kind of summer blockbuster movie monster. Then, it will smile winningly at the camera just before ripping off the top of my head.
I think it's because my body is gearing itself up for next week's Brain Annex by Hormone. My mind always feels piteously feeble while the Hormones are in raging control, finding that it's much easier to let Them make the important decisions in my life. Just before it happens though, in a sort of last ditch attempt to look big and strong, much like a cat will fluff up before a fight, the old brain decides to swell up and fill my head, causing searing, white-hot pain that makes breathing an effort. Then, a few days later, in a sort of cherry-on-top kind of way, I'm blessed with The (Curse) Magic (Curse) of Being a (Cursed) Woman.
Of course, this is an improvement. I used to get soul eating, mind numbing, screaming, 12-hour, vomitous, fetal position, begging for death cramps.
Adam at that damn apple, and for this I suffer so?
Boys suck rocks. It's too bad they make such excellent dancing partners, otherwise I'd chuck the lot of them. Except for you. Or you. And well, you're kind of lovely. Oh, dammit! I can't even hate boys right!
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