I keep to myself. I post superficial glimpses of myself on Facebook. I tell very little about myself to others, even close friends no less about me than I know of them. I am considered laid back and calm. I look as though I weather the storm well. It takes a training to be such a salty dog such as myself. It does not help the morale of the ship if the crew sees the Captain wince. It's best to let them think we are on course and not a drift with the hopes we see land soon or, at best, another ship to raid for it's booty.
This would be called a martyr by some. Others say it is the job of the woman of the house. Others simply think it is wrong. Wrong or right is not reality. We all live somewhere in the gray. Somewhere.
What people do not see is the biting freezing wind nipping at my nose, toes, and cheeks on a daily basis. No one sees the raging fire such a breeze can cause. Two extremes building an inner blaze. What looks like a snuffed out fire is merely an illusion. A sneaky being lying low waiting for that moment that a fresh source of oxygen, a breath of fresh air, and you get one hell of a back draft. A flaming charbroil burst.
Every full moon I feel the inability to keep my real feelings quiet. My frustrations quiet. My fears quiet. My lack and despair quiet. The dam bursts forth an unimaginable flood of hormones that rush through out my body. A biological truth serum flows through my veins. Rants, cursing, and anger from the past 28 day, hell, past 28 years come into fruition and not be patted down with purring words and soft kisses.
I think men think we are being irrational in these moments. I think what they miss is the fact we spare them this the entire month and can no longer suppress those emotions any longer.
I myself am all this and more. I am a woman. Feel my wrath!
This would be called a martyr by some. Others say it is the job of the woman of the house. Others simply think it is wrong. Wrong or right is not reality. We all live somewhere in the gray. Somewhere.
What people do not see is the biting freezing wind nipping at my nose, toes, and cheeks on a daily basis. No one sees the raging fire such a breeze can cause. Two extremes building an inner blaze. What looks like a snuffed out fire is merely an illusion. A sneaky being lying low waiting for that moment that a fresh source of oxygen, a breath of fresh air, and you get one hell of a back draft. A flaming charbroil burst.
Every full moon I feel the inability to keep my real feelings quiet. My frustrations quiet. My fears quiet. My lack and despair quiet. The dam bursts forth an unimaginable flood of hormones that rush through out my body. A biological truth serum flows through my veins. Rants, cursing, and anger from the past 28 day, hell, past 28 years come into fruition and not be patted down with purring words and soft kisses.
I think men think we are being irrational in these moments. I think what they miss is the fact we spare them this the entire month and can no longer suppress those emotions any longer.
I myself am all this and more. I am a woman. Feel my wrath!
1 comment:
Hubby just read this and said I was crazy...LOL NO, I was hormonal. BIG difference!
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