I love PMS.
You think I'm kidding. You think there's sarcasm dripping from my words. You think I'm going to write a whole post about the monthly curse and how I hate it and wish I was pregnant again so I wouldn't have to deal with the monthly cycles of zits like a teenager, hormonal moodswings, belt-loosening bloat, cringe inducing cramps, and the sheer inconvenience of the whole thing.
But no.
I really do love PMS. It's what finally solidified the plot of my novel.
You don't believe me.
But listen. There's so much power in the female menstrual cycle. I can feel it. Right now.
I mean, think about it. Every month, the potential is there to create new life.
Create. New. Life. Whoa.
And when the uterus sheds its nice, comfy lining because it has no fertilized egg to nestle and nurture, that potential -- that creative seed -- exits the body. The transition -- internal to external -- creates a heightened state of awareness. Gifting us...mood swings. Crying because there are too many dishes. Blood boiling when a shoe goes missing. Absolute conviction that nothing, nothing, nothing is going right. And never will. Ever.
But that heightened state can manifest itself in other ways, too.
When I was a competitive runner in high school, I performed noticeably better right before a new cycle began. I ran faster. I felt stronger.
I wrote some really pretty stuff in college, under the influence of no substance other than hormones.
I could never fall asleep the night before my cycle began. I felt awake. Alive. Even at midnight.
And that's what happened to me the other night. I couldn't sleep. My characters were running around in my head, changing stuff around, figuring out their own direction. They were loud, loud, loud. But they said some interesting stuff.
I felt terrible all over the next day, though.
And sure enough, a new cycle began.
I can count on my fingers (maybe throw in a couple toes, too) the number of cycles I've had over the past seven (seven?!?!?!) years because of pregnancy and nursing. And I can honestly say I'm excited that they're back, that my feminine creativity is back, that my body is fertile and maybe my mind is, too.
The other day, I wrote about feeling blocked. Now I'm flowing, literally.
And I have a (rough) outline for my novel. Flowing, indeed.
