According to scientists who routinely study this sort of thing, January 22nd (yesterday) is the most depressing day of the year.  This is because of compounded unpaid Christmas bills, failed New Year’s Resolutions, and horrible dreary weather.  So if you’re reading this today and think it sucks TODAY, take heart; you made it through yesterday, so the rest of the year should rock.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, Oh God, please, not another post about her menstrual cycle.  Please, God, please spare us.

He heard your prayers, dear readers.  No more sore nu-nu posts for you.

Instead, I plan to regale you with musings about my hair.

Don’t even THINK about complaining.  Do you want stories about Aunt Flow? Huh?  DO YOU?  Then be grateful it’s just hair.

I am debating what to do with my head.  My hair is not curly anymore; it’s wavy, at best.  And there are some mornings where it’s not even that.  Could be the cheap Pantene shampoo and conditioner I’ve been using, I’d admit to that.  But my hair hasn’t been the same since I cut it off.

So I’m going to grow it out.  We’re not going Crystal Gayle or anything, but I’d like it to be long enough to pull it back on mornings when I have a big meeting that day.  And I’d like it to stay out of my eyes when I’m working out.  And, admittedly, I would like to swish my hair like Jan Brady.

More than anything, I would like my head to look nice.  The rest I will leave up to the stylist.

One of these days, I’m gonna be happy with my head.  I just know it.

Why I hate being a woman:

TODAY.

Today, I hurt from the belly button down.  Well, from the belly button down and my teeth.  My teeth ALWAYS hurt right now.  So my head is pounding, my pelvis wants to explode, and I can’t sleep.  I am the pinnacle of sunshine this morning.

Even a cup of Vanilla Caramel Truffle tea is not helping.  And the Midol, of course, is at home.  I passed by it this morning and thought, “Hm.  Should grab some of that.”  And yes, I should’ve.  I didn’t.

Bryan figured out something marvelous last night.  We have a gas heater installed in our living room, but we forgot about it because, naturally, that’s where the ficus lives.  But last night, when my PMS-fever broke out and I couldn’t get warm despite my layers of sweats and blankets, Bryan finally cranked the thing.  The room was gloriously toasty in minutes.  Downside?  Huge, open, live flame.  And it runs on natural gas, and y’all know how I feel about that.

Well, the meeting that I was scrambling for the last two days has been moved to Saturday, so I may very well write a bunch today.

Hooray for you.