While I am finishing my tea and observing my neighbors cat, I am thinking of the next topic I would like to share with the world. Not having had promoted my blog too much yet, doing so was probably be very wise; I am thinking.
Because the topic that constantly pops up in my head and eagerly yearns for attention, is in other words, not at all glamorous and fun. I am seriously doubting the idea of writing about it, but contrary to me, the theme doesn’t mind my fear nor my outdated shame. It wants to be heard and spoken about; right now. More so, it demands that I fully honor its existence by calling it by its name, and the name of this reckless, self promoting theme is; (next to all other equally important topics of our day, like for example the tears of a fallen leader)
Premenstrual anger!
Here it is, proudly, sassy, it stands now in the open field and gives me the look; saying, see, I made you type it! I am here, on your page, on black and white! You can’t ignore me no longer, you wanne be feminist and intellectual, how dare you not to speak about the topic that matters so much! You can’t face the uncomfortable truth! You, who hides behind novels of past days, interior magazine and other lighthearted girly rubbish!
My premenstrual anger all of a sudden loves the lime light and gets completely over confident. Like a wild animal, held back too long in a dark cage. Now stands in the light ready to fight a battle with words like; “period poverty”, “social taboos”, “blood soaked tampons”, and “shame”.
“Ohh no, please, really”?? I am pressing my palms over my ears. Really, do I have to listen to all that now. “Hold yourself back a little, please.” I try to sooth that wild beast. “This is only my third blog post, and I am still in the process of finding my voice! Please don’t scare me or my readers away!”
But all the soothing words have absolutely no effect on my premenstrual anger. So I had to come up with some mean accusations. “Old bastard, you’ve already ruined enough of my life!” I add with reassuring voice. “You made me start endless, stupid conversations, made me look ridiculous and hysterical as I was trying desperately to defend myself and explain feminism to idiots! And yes, you even made me cancel a date!” I add here a little theatrical pause to give my words more meaning and to observe the reaction on its face.”Go back where you belong!”
My premenstrual anger, however on tasting the freedom of expression, had a new sense of confidence and was impossible to stop; it was not the slightest impressed by me. Like a lion on stage, it turns around ready to attack, dominating the space with its elegance and tension. The beast owns its power and walks majestically in the red lime light. After a dramatic head turn it stops and looks at me with big bestial eyes and tells me the truth:
“Firstly, be happy you can feel me! It means you are alive and healthy!”
“Second, if you think back at all these apparently embarrassing moments. Wasn’t it true what I made you feel and say? Wasn’t it me, who told you all the injustices; wasn’t it me who gave you the strength and power to speak up? To confront? You overly indoctrinated girl, your strength has already been weakened by all the social norms and conditioning!”
I take a step back, starring at the beast unable to find the words to say or contradict.
“I will leave now” the lion roars. “and will come back next month, to discuss why I had you cancel the date”
And out it walks into the free wild prairie and engulfed in the deep red sunset. I add some imaginary music to it, and feel the sadness and relief of an ending, similar to the end of some old fashioned, way too long western movies.
