Yup, this is what it's like

Here’s the thing. It’s not funny. I can’t sleep through the night. I’m like the scene in Broadcast News where Albert Brooks is trying out for the anchor position at his station. He ‘s sitting behind the desk reading the news and a viewer calls in because he’s sweating so profusely they think he’s having a heart attack. That’s me. About ten times a day and three times a night. Soaked like I just got out of a pool. Hot like I’m in the middle of summer in Manhattan with no share in the Hamptoms. I have seriously considered stripping down to my underwear in the middle of the produce aisle at Whole Foods, except for the next not funny thing about what’s happening to me, is that people would run if I stripped down to my underwear in the produce aisle at Whole Foods (once upon a not so short time ago, they would have stuck around and stared). But now I look a little like I have one of those inner tube floaty things around my waist. The kind you wear when you can’t really swim. What waist, you might say, because it’s positively non-existent these days. Sometimes I think I have the inner tube thingy so that won’t drown in my own sweat. If that’s not it, then I don’t know the reason that the five pounds I can’t get rid of, is perfectly positioned around my middle. But who am I to ask, and furthermore, I wouldn’t remember to ask, because I can barely remember what my name is (I think it starts with a “T”). Today I actually forgot what I was saying in the middle of saying it. Forgot, just went perfectly blank, a big white board, appeared where I used to store words and thoughts. My memory is tripping through Europe with a back pack, having a blast and I’m left back here in the states without a rewind button. Which makes me really angry, but then again, what doesn’t? My crankiness is bigger than my middle. I mean, half the time I ‘d like to take out my entire family with a dull paring knife. And I like them. Yeah, menopause. It’s no time to pause. I want this to end as quickly as possible. I feel under attack and overweight. I feel overwhelmed and underappreciated. I feel like I’m going to possibly kill a person or two when I’m walking my dog, just because they’re walking by me. It’s not funny. No really. It’s not funny. Unless, of course, you look at it that way.