The Battle of Hormone Hill

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As a blogger, I made a promise to myself when I began this little adventure December 29, 2011, that I would always blog with integrity and be honest with my readers — even if my parents were it! While I have not always been as up-front with you as I would have liked, I have always been honest. Today, I’m gonna be both.

This weekend was a nightmare little rough. It all started on Friday evening when Ian arrived. Bless his heart, he bears the brunt of… well, me. We had planned to see his cousin Bryce play in a Labor Day soccer tournament in Richmond Saturday afternoon. We had also planned to tailgate and attend the University of Richmond vs. VMI football game with my parents. After some careful consideration on his own, Ian determined that our best course of action would be to see Bryce play in the 9:00 game on Saturday instead of the 2:00 game; we needed to leave for UR by 3:30 to allow ourselves ample time for set-up and tailgating. He announced this shortly after arriving at my house for dinner, unbeknownst to both of us that hanger was setting in and that it would effectively pit my parents against me. I know that my family would never intentionally gang up on me, but the combination of low blood sugar, fatigue, OCD, and the sudden change in plans threw me for a loop — causing me to act like a completely immature, whiny bitch for the rest of the night. All of a sudden, I did not want to get up at 8:00 on a Saturday morning, I did not want to sit in the heat to watch a soccer game, and I did not want my parents to agree with Ian that the change in schedule would be best for everyone.

[Please believe me when I say that unlike when I was 14, I do not enjoy arguing with Ian or feeling resentful toward my family.]

Essentially, I punished him for the rest of the evening. I made snide comments under my breath throughout dinner. (There went “zero negativity” for August 30.) I declared that the movie du jour was my choice: Paranormal Activity 4. I set up my own bribe, determining that Ian “owed” me Starbuck’s in the morning and a four-pack of Fox Barrel for the tailgate; he agreed to both. Thus, I went to bed earlier than I would have liked, in a foul mood and with a lot of regret.

I woke up before my alarm on Saturday, so I utilized my extra time to my advantage. I showered and got ready for the day, still in a stormy mood. Before she hastily cleared out of the kitchen, my mom asked, “Are you going to punish him all day?”

I didn’t have much to say as we ate breakfast and headed out the door, Ian dutifully plugging the address of the nearest Starbuck’s into his Garmin. I brought my purse in because I wasn’t entirely sure he was going to pay for my drink, but he whipped out his debit card before my foggy brain had a chance to register the barista saying, “That’ll be two dollars.”

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After more than 12 hours of bitterness, I finally felt bad enough to apologize for my frostiness, as my family refers to it, and my behavior. He excused it as no big deal, and he apologized for changing the plans without notice. Even though the switch had been difficult to wrap my brain around, the 9:00 game was a good decision: it was much cooler at 9:00 than it was at 2:00, Ian’s uncle Wayne treated us to lunch after the game so we could have more time to visit, and I even had time for a nap once we got home.

…or so I thought.

Different people traipsed up and down the stairs of the basement, where “we” were watching “the game,” so I didn’t get much of a nap. Ergo, the bitch emerged again, this time fueled by the heat, irritability over the nap, and being rushed to get out the door on time. The bitch went away after a beer or two and some tailgate munchies, but in truth she was just lying in wait. The first half of the game was unbearably hot, and I had chosen to wear a silky top and dark jeans like an idiot.

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Just as halftime ended and the players returned to the field, the referees announced a 30-minute delay due to lightning sighted in the area. The delay ended up lasting more than an hour, with kickoff finally scheduled for 9:15. When we returned to our seats, they were wet from the lightning-ensuing drizzle. The Bitch was not a happy camper, but she clutched her purse, sipped her Diet Coke, and sucked it up.

We finally had to move at the start of the fourth quarter when the little sprinkle became full-blown rain. Richmond was up 34-0, and they were maintaining the shutout. We called it a night with about 8 minutes left in the game. Bitch was giddy with relief about getting out of the rain and out of wet jeans, but that didn’t last long. Ian wanted to watch the tail end and the highlights from some other game, while I thought he was on his way in to watch Safety Not Guaranteed with me. I eventually fell asleep with the lights on waiting for him, which only sparked a snappy argument when he came in to say goodnight and turn the lights off. I flatly refused to let him go to sleep until we “talked it out” — which accomplished absolutely nothing.

When I awoke on Sunday, I lounged for about 90 minutes before he woke up. If you can believe it, Bitch was still at it, and she didn’t want much to do with Ian. As we ate breakfast and I sipped my coffee, we slowly unwound the weekend and analyzed what had gone wrong. Ian kept apologizing for things he thought he had done, when in reality, I was the one who owed him a gigantic “I’M SORRY!” We were able to part company on good terms, he headed downtown and I headed here.

I had a two-hour drive to think over the weekend and why it had been so sour. It finally occurred to me that Ian had mentioned in passing that about once a month, this theme of irreconcilable differences emerges. Know what else happens once a month?

Yeahhhhhhh. That.

We discussed it last night and determined jointly that my hormones and the BC I’m on may be out of whack. It’s possible that I suffer from some serious PMS (i.e. Prepare to Meet Satan) or possibly PMDD. Either way, it’s something to discuss with my OB/GYN before I require an exorcism.

I am in no way excusing my behavior, my poor attitude, my bitterness, or my seeming inability to perk up. I am merely wondering aloud whether there is a medical explanation behind this repeated event. I’ll keep ya posted, and in the meantime, say a little prayer for Ian’s sanity! 😉

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