I think this menopause business is kinda funny. I’m in my first year without punctuation, and I’m hoping to make it to December without having a period. So far, so good. You never know, though. TMI? Please. Think about it. No more of all that? I have never had cramps, so I don’t know what that’s about, but I did get a migraine each month thanks to the hormone drops. Back when I worked in newspapers I had a boss who gave me grief for taking off one day a month. Dude. Do the friggen math. Really? You think I’m partying or something? I’d mainline prescription Motrin and the pain hung in there for a solid 24 hours. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t watch TV, I couldn’t focus on print proofs. Good bye to all that!
And hello to the carefree wild rumpus of life!
These days I find my hot flashes amusing. I don’t have the full-body-soak experience going on, and maybe I’m in for the rushing tsunamis eventually. But until then, I just wanted to chronicle what I’m going through with this little poem I wrote, shamelessly borrowing meter from Simon and Garfunkel. I hope they don’t mind. “The Sound of Silence” rung true for my generation. Why can’t I bogart that bounce here?
Hello hot flash, my new friend.
You come to heat me up again.
Radiating waves warming my head.
My face, my neck, my arms are red.
I glisten with sparkly tiny beads of sweat.
In hand I dab at the damp.
And when it seems I am destined
To become a crashing wave,
On the shore it bubbles and seeps,
The ripples evaporate and retreat,
Startling me swiftly this flickering hot flashing sign
That splits the hours and soaks me in the drench of silence.
Influenced by Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.”