Surrogate PMT and the nipple effect

For those of you who noticed a dip, I am thrilled to report that I am back on top form. I was suffering from surrogate PMT. I knew it wasn't that time of my cycle, yet I was beset with grouchy indecision and crying-over-spilt-milk with malcoordination ironically ensuring I was repeatedly spilling said milk. After checking my dates, I neglected to remember that my girlfriend and I are in synch emotionally, although not menstrually. Despite most females switching into the same cycle in close proximity, we were both always the prevailing cycles – a kind of alpha menstruator- in the past. My pheromones are so strong that women dive into drugstores for sanitary towels as I simply wander past them at key lunar phases. Upon us both getting together, we had an interesting tug of war for some time before both settling back into our own rhythms (incidentally to spell that word I have no choice but to say aloud, Rhythm Has Your Two Hips Moving- more acronym memory jogger than double entedre.) Anyhow, cue two days of indecision and the world being one step too far to the left-or is that right, well just plain wrong- without the appeasing ease of blaming it on the hormones. Instead I felt like a pool player who was always just 1 cm out from potting each shot, my balls just wouldn't roll straight, sotospeak.

As the scientist in me tried to restore order, I took my irrational state and applied "applied physics". Here were my key laws:

- The ripple effect (which I have redubbed the nipple effect)
This states that, cast a mere speck of gravel in my pond and a tidal wave of tsunami proportions results; cause and effect are no longer proportional in these circumstances.

- Everything has an equal and opposite reaction (in my case over-reaction).
In fact, as a Libran, this is my sort of motto as I try to find my balance, throwing things on one side of the scale and then the other. Accordingly when I am asked what is wrong in a calm fashion, the result is a wildly disproportionate rant both along the lines of “everything” and “nothing” (the latter should never be taken literally). Followed by injured inarticulacy should the sarcasm be pointed out.

- Chaos theory.
Eponymously self-explanatory. Cue me grabbing at the wrong end of any stick on offer and not letting go, clutching at straws and a host of pointy-thing analagous analogies.

To introduce a note of harmony to my personal symphony of discordant noise and take the Miss out of miscommunication, my lovely lover said to me, "You know darling, when I say something, there’s no hidden meaning, it is because that's what I think. I sit and think about what I want to say and then condense it to its essence. Likewise when someone else talks to me I strip back all the embellishments and I try to think what is the essence here?" Her superhuman clarity of thought and concision of expression was now being aptly summed up (cue the basis of attraction- magnetic that is- opposites attract, can you tell we're different by the way?) "Oh" I said, the wind taken out of my long-windedness reducing me to being just long. Observing that I was goggling at this statement she added gently, "I thought I'd just explain that to you honey". I sifted through the plethora of messages and re-intereprations here and wondered what she could possibly mean by that...and why say it even? Before I proferred my own philosophy of interpretation, "Umm, I thought the point was in the details?" Her jaw dropped and she mirrored my earlier expression, I can read body language, of course she completely agreed and was on the same wavelength.

My lover can always see the wood for the trees, “yours truly” on the other hand, can't see the wood for the intricate little details of the knots on the trees. I hope I haven't abused that metaphor too much, or the earlier imagery for that matter. I am a literal person in some key ways and metaphors are often lost on me. A Confucius I would never make, although Yoda I would love to be.

And now, I lap up rather than weep at the spilt breast milk, I have placed a label on my disordered state like a kid sporting an “I’ve been to the dentist” sticker. My blog and duty are done, I have imparted and thereby demystified and deconstructed the perils of surrogate PMT. Suitably cured and purged at once, I’m off to consume large quantities of chocolate in my pyjamas.