Well, evidently my sense of humor was based in my uterus, because now that my uterus is a shriveled husk, my sense of humor has evaporated. Things that would have made me laugh before now fill me with rage.
My mantra is now, "I Have Had It." It varies, sometimes I Have Enough Of This Shit, or I Have Had All I Can Take Of These People, or I Have Had It Up To My Drooping Boobs or Even My Saggy Wattle.
I am on the edge of punching a hole in the wall every minute. The anger is visible: I had to be taken to task today for the pointed body language I was laying on my boss.
I don't want to suppress my anger any more. It's unjust that everyone else can bite at each other like a nest of rats, but I need to stay calm. And rational. And I won't. Even if I could. Anymore. Which I can't.
And God forbid that Gary raise his voice about anything - it makes me fracture into a thousand flying shards of hatred. Every little tone sends me off. The whiny tone. The cranky tone. The verge of hysteria tone, which is Gary's baseline.
And of course, all this comes to a head when Gary's in his most stressful situation and I am expected to be at my most calm: when he is driving and I'm the navigator. Gary thinks we need to drive MORE to get past this problem. A visit to each cave on the way to (shudder) Branson, MO. Branson. It has come to this. Can you imagine a fresher hell, a four hour road trip to Branson? Each of our last two road trips was marked by Gary using the D word. Those couples who get divorced after thirty years? I bet they've been on a menopausal road trip to Branson.
I've volunteered to go back on my meds, but Gary thinks it's testosterone. "That's pretty much how guys feel all the time." Well, my apologies to guys everywhere. Thanks for not punching me in the face when I complain, whine, or just express any emotion at all.