There's been a new, unwelcome development on the menopausal front.
I am now seemingly in a constant state of snit, for no apparent reason.
And to this I say, "Uncle, already." To whoever is in charge of handing out the menopausal misery to those of us who have had the good fortune to have outlived our reproductive usefulness I say, "Thank you, I'm full. Really. I couldn't eat another bite."
Then it turns out that a teeny, tiny little spark of temper can, in and of itself, bring on a roaring, internal organ-searing, get-up-and-let-me-have-that chair-can't-you-see-I'm-having-a-stroke hot flash.
And that just burns me up.
photo, Neil Gould.
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