Post #21

Oh stop talking!!!

The Official Crone Records · Administrative Note: Fuck This in Particular

I hate to miss the opportunity to rant and rave and it’s just as well that I have something that REALLY FUCKS ME OFF, to get chewing on. I told you before that I used to be quite nice and polite (hard to imagine I know, but I was young and stupid then - now I know better). I cared about my actions and how they affected others. Not that I don’t do that now, but before? I BENT OVER BACKWARDS and as good as waved my buttocks at the world like a baboon in estrus. My point is, now, my view is more balanced. I SUIT MYSELF first. And it’s been a long time coming, let me tell you!

My declining hormones have removed all the ‘nice, caring and nurturing’ and made me LESS ‘caring and nurturing.’ AND I LIKE THAT A WHOLE FUCKING LOT! You heard me talk about the DGAF-o-Meter which is the scale used to measure how many fucks I have to give. WELL, mine is lubed to the hilt and cranking out the DGAFs like a horny teenager engaged with his ‘jerking off,’ sock.

So what are the benefits of this you may ask? I know you’re curious because which one of us hormonally-challenged Crones-in-Waiting, doesn’t want SOME silver lining to this shitstorm? I don’t stand for the same amount of crap as before (I think that’s what is also known as establishing boundaries), I see things more clearly (not as willing to unsee flaws in people) without that lens of judgment falling on me. I say no like it’s my first word and I can’t get enough of it. I don’t even wait to explain to fill that ‘awkward jaw slapping on the floor,’ look that I get for it.

I may be seen as rude or standoffish or anti-social. These are STILL my core traits, perimenopause hasn’t affected those, it’s just roughed up the edges a bit and made me less of a DAMN doormat! Let’s face it, the pre-Crone me was a weak-assed wuss. I feel embarrassment at the old me, no wonder I was SO UNHAPPY. I think back to the shitty corporate rat race I worked in and now see all that grouchiness, and unteamFUCKINGplayer-ness was the warning signs of perimenopause. Why should I spend my nights drinking with people I didn’t like? Or pretending to be interested in what they did at the weekend, or their miserable crotch-fruits’ sports games? All I could think was, “please STOP TALKING!!!” They wouldn’t and my shutters would come down, I’d sit there glazed and I dare say I even yawned a few times. The cold hard facts were, I just DIDN’T (and still don’t) care. When I realized what was happening to me, the light bulb went off and I was liberated. Free from the shackles of myself first, and then the shackles of society (and decorum) second. UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE. A Crone reborn.

So my estrogen divebombing ensured that I didn’t care so much, was easy to irritate and my tolerance for BULLSHIT was low. BUT my levels of serotonin, the happy hormone dropped, made me feel sad, cross and moody (like puberty all over again). That chain of events led to a feeling of numbness, and frankly caring less. A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD, because when I wanted to care I couldn’t. Let’s call that the down side to the DGAF-o-Meter. Let’s not forget that estrogen also regulates dopamine the motivation neurotransmitter, so again another hit of DGAF right there when it hitchhiked right out of town!

But you know what gets me these days, now that I’ve settle into my crocodilian Crone skin and have embraced the fucklessness of my mental state? The sound of people’s voices. Not all but some. Nails down a fucking CHALK BOARD. I swear sometimes I wish the mythical brown note was real and they’d trigger verbal diarrhea strong enough to wash them away on a shit Tsunami.

And on THAT NOTE, I’ll sign off.

Keep it Crone!