A woman would not curse EVERY other woman with such an intrusive, disgusting never fucking ending cycle, so I will now be calling it Father Nature.
I had plans and that mofo screwed them royally.
I track it, I do what I am supposed to and is it on TIME? Of course not. I figure Father Nature and Murphy must be home boys, just laughing as women struggle to schedule their lives around cramps, trips to the drugstore, mood swings that would kill any pitcher in the major leagues, juggled in with trying to maintain some kind of intimate friendship when you're both working.
Totally scrambled my happy sunday plans, and forced me top find a less obvious reason for canceling since I choose not to enlighten the paramour concerning things female. We aren't even close to discussing that.
So there were several very long phone calls this week end - but it just is not the same thing as being able to touch/smell/taste him. damn.
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