Current mood:	nauseated
Current music:	Nine Inch Nails - Only

Pannik Ataxx
The days leading up to the monthly visit make many women quick to anger, impatient, and prone to tearful outbursts about the consistency of chocolate pudding or the length of commercial breaks during home makeover shows.

These days have a different effect on me. These days make me prone to hyperventilation and dry heaving. Lying awake on the brink of tears. What if I oversleep tomorrow morning? When will my next bank statement come? What if I can't find a new job? What if I can't pass my exams? Where will I live and how long will it take me to save enough money? What if I can't lose this weight? How can I afford to buy the tools I need with this paycheck? Fears about not being able to afford the things I want down the road. Will I have to pick up a part time job? That I might not get the support I need. That I might end up having more put on my shoulders than I can carry. Fears about people letting me down. Fears for my friends health and safety. That my friends don't have enough support. That my friends will be alone and in trouble. That they won't ask for help when they need it most. That there's never enough time in a day to accomplish enough. Fears about 'friends' who act like they care about me and then verbally spit in my face. Fears about people who care about me as long as it's convenient. You know what? I'd way rather be bitchy for three days, because this is almost unbearable. I can't for the life of me make my brain stop spinning out of control. I can't figure out how to bring my heart rate down. How can things be going so well, and yet I still feel like this? I know it's a chemical thing, but still. This week I wish I could just be grateful for the way things are and the way things are going.

My new least favorite thing is people who make a statement about something completely predictable and characteristic of them and then they finish up the sentence with, "I know. Totally random." "So, like I got out of bed and put on a shirt... I know. Totally random." "So, I drunk dialed this guy last night. I know. Totally random." OR NOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

Why are there so many people who want to drag you down into the mud so they can feel better about their own problems? I'm so tired of everyone waiting for you to make a mistake so they can point it out to you and feel like a bigshot for five seconds. Even better, half the time they just pick out what they think is wrong with your life and explain it to you, as if their life wasn't a complete fiery planecrash. "Oh, thanks for the help, Robert Downey Jr.!. You're absolutely right. I should starch my dress shirts!" These people should never give advice. Ever.

Here's one: Why do I always give in and hang out with people who bring me down thoroughly and completely to the point where I feel depressed and messed up for the next 24 hours? Worse yet, why do I always swear that I will never again put my own contentedness in jeopardy for these people. Somehow, after a few months, I always end up feeling guilty about making up 800 excuses about why I can't hang out, and so I cave in, and agree to see them, and the cycle begins again. Why do I let these people get to me so bad?

Meanwhile, everyone should join me in my spanking new, state of the art program: THE UNHEALTHY FITNESS PROGRAM FOR THE UNHEALTHY LIFESTYLE. You don't need to go to the gym. You don't need to assign number values to the foods you eat until discussing meal time with you turns into unintelligible robot mush. You don't need to adopt a diet that consists entirely of 499 chocolate shakes. You don't need to buy special food that comes in the mail. And best of all, it only takes place on weekdays. The weekends are hedonistic binge-fests of nachos and beer. The rest of the week is a mish mash of small meals and then starving yourself by drinking water and juice every other time you're hungry followed by 2 billion situps at 12:30 in the morning. You also can't eat anything after 7 pm. Also, so far, this plan isn't actually working, but at least it seems constructive. In a twisted way.

I will be a sane person again very soon. I can assure you of that. But I've got at least another full day of Cuckoo Bananaville ahead of me. Any prayers and well wishes thrown my way are welcome.