In high school I was a moody, grotsky bitch. I calmed down in college along with the hormonal spikes, thanks be to biochemistry. Lately, I’m back to the secondary school hormonal scene.
In high school I was a moody, grotsky trainwreck. I calmed down in college along with the hormonal spikes, thanks be to biochemistry. Lately, I’m back to the secondary school hormonal scene.
What do I mean when I say apathy, exactly? To be blunt, I feel emotionally detached from the person I’m currently growing in my womb; like I swallowed a baby pill and I’m just waiting for it to pass through some kind of gestational digestive system so that I can expel it and get on with my life. I feel monstrous just saying that sort of thing out loud and I’m finding that I have accompanying and overwhelming feelings of guilt as a result.
I watched Olympic dressage and cried my eyeballs out when Charlotte Dujardin, Adelinde Cornelissen and Laura Bechtolsheimer rode and ultimately won medals. Two kids in the marching band we teach totally killed their parts at band camp last week, causing me to well up. The Dog Whisperer = hysterics. This is my life, you guys.
So, fun fact: I have a bulky uterus! My ass and thighs are bulky, and I’ve been told since I was about 12 that I have “child-bearing hips” (that’s PRECISELY what a 12 year old wants to hear) so hey! My uterus fits right in! Turns out that being told your uterus is bulky is a compliment. Who knew?
At 9:55, I was in my cubicle, considering what limbs I could sacrifice and devour in order to survive until a socially acceptable lunch time.
When I was 4, I wanted to be a ballerina. I can hear you now. “Meg,” you’re thinking, “that might be the girliest profession in history. You could only be girlier by being a maxi pad.” Read on.