In which PMS makes me a more efficient employee.

Email to friends:

“I have PMS, so I’m exhausted, and miserable, and I just want to be in bed, and the quantity of food I ate for ‘dinner’ last night actually verged on obscene.

“But I’m also short-tempered, and far less concerned about being nice. I’m being polite, but blunt, so — politely — fuck you right in the eye, Coworker, for replying to my request for shit I should already HAVE with what amounts to ‘go fetch!’ and a smiley. I don’t have the patience to sugar-coat shit today. Give it.

“I should always have this. I am drunk with power. And irritability. (And possibly some sort of angry dairy-based residue from eating all the cheese on earth yesterday.)”

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