Waning gibbous: the moon phase between full moon and third-quarter moon. A diminishment of light.
The worst part of perimenopause is the rage.
It starts as a slight edge, a bite that creeps into my voice. An irritated tone, a generalized impatience with my kids. I check the app on my phone with the little pink flower on it. Sure enough, it’s somewhere between 10 and 12 days until my next period is due.
I trade jokey texts with friends about my desire to build a PMS pod. A modern-day version of the red tent — where hormonal women can…
You know your crazy is on full blast when your father has to text you to make sure your social media activity isn’t the result of recent head trauma. Not that I could blame my dad for voicing his concern: moments earlier and in the most dramatic of fashions, I announced to my Twitter followers that I was “done with this shit,” or something mature like that. Then I deleted my Twitter account and waited for attention to wash over me like so many waves of validation.
My then-boyfriend Max, also known as the catalyst for my social…
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