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tales of something simple - crazy bitch moment frozen in time

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

crazy bitch moment frozen in time

Don’t even try and tell me you don’t frequent this awesome power as a female.  Yes, you.  Don’t look behind you.  There is something about having a vagina that makes us totally insane.  I have crazy bitch moments a handful of times a year–let’s say once a quarter for good measure.  It’s a paradox, because it doesn’t even nicely coincide with my menstrual cycle.  I’m not saying I don’t have snippy, not nice moments.  I’m saying that once in a full moon, I go ape shit on my husband.  The poor thing.  Most of the time it isn’t entirely warranted.  It might be gravity, the location of the sun, the hour of the day, whatever, but I could seriously win an award for being the most random freaker-outer ever.  Last night for instance.  I got my panties so knotted up it wasn’t even funny and I couldn’t even stop myself.  At first I thought my bad behavior would get me somewhere good (like sulking, being quiet, leaving the room and toying with random household items for no reason at all leads to anywhere positive).  And then it was as though I realized I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of the situation so I just became a lunatic.

Men are naturally passive people, I do believe this for a majority of their species.  So when women, which I am one, pushes, and pokes and prods and talks and yips and yaps and doesn’t shut the fuck up–that’s all men do.  They shut the fuck up.  Which is the LAST thing we want them to do!  We want them to go, baby, wait, what’s wrong.  Hold on.  Let me tell you how hot and sexy I think you are and how smart and amazing you are and how lucky I am to have you.  But what do they do instead?  They give you the ‘what the fuck is going on?’ face.  You know the one I’m talking about.  The one where it’s a blank stare and you swear they are looking through you at the TV.  But REALLY, he is just trying to figure out at one point the quiet evening watching DVR’d TV shows ended, and your transformation into Satan began.  When I get all bitchy and crazed I use my hands a lot and get all dramatic–I throw things in a seperate room for good measure.  And really, all I need to do is go to bed.  I don’t have these moments on a random Sunday morning or mid-afternoon mid-week.  It’s always a night, it’s always something I’ve blown out of proportion and really I get upset outwardly because I very often forget that I always get the thing I need but just saying it nicely, calmly and sanely if I just ask.  Men don’t read minds.  And if they did, they would probably be extremely overwhelmed.  But I give myself a little credit: I know when I need a time out (even if it is a little too late in the game) and things always look better after I’ve gone to bed.  Communication isn’t perfect and the dance is one that requires years and years of practice.  Funny thing is, Brian and I communicate extremely well together.  I just don’t always communicate singularly well when I am feeling down and out or needy because I can’t always put those feelings into words.  As an independent, mostly confident female, not knowing how to express how I feel is as bad as having a mosquito bite on top of a sunburned boob (which I do have by the way, it really sucks).  As an English major, this obviously frustrates me further.

I think what I learned last night, and will probably continue to learn as I assure you and my husband that I will always have crazy bitch moments, is that when I don’t know how to say what I feel or what I need…I just need to ask for a hug.  There hasn’t been a single moment in my relationship in over five years that one good, strong bear hug from the man who adores me (hopefully in spite of my crazy bitch moments), hasn’t solved what I didn’t know how to say was wrong.

The song says all you need is love.  I say, all you need is a hug.  And to breathe.

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