I have PMS. Again. It happens regularly, of course, but because it’s chemicals in your head, it still feels real.
Because I have PMS, I am depressed.
I tore the house apart for the sort of book I wanted, and didn’t find it, because I’m not sure it exists, and writing it in the next coupla hours, when it would do me some good, proved unfeasible.
And so, by a convoluted road I can’t even begin to explain, I wound up with a mug of hot tea.
Reading fan fiction.
I…have never actually…read…fan fiction before.
I’m not going to tell you what kind, because like porn, while I’d admit I watched it, I’m not telling you my kinks. I love you all, O faithful readers, but there are things I’m just not gonna share. (And this is from a woman who recounted her last experience with industrial strength laxatives, so you can probably assume it’s pretty embarassing. No, it’s not Harry Potter. I have not yet sunk so low.)
Actually, I’d be much less embarassed if it were porn.
Some of it’s terrible. Most of it’s terrible. And yet, there are some surprisingly good bits and in the depths of PMS…I am shocked and appalled at how much comfort a PMSing brain can derive. I understand why people write this stuff. I’m not saying I approve, but at least I comprehend.
Yes, I do feel unclean. Thanks for asking.
Edit: Guys, I appreciate you feel strongly about stuff, but this is not the place to thrash out this particular subject. I asked once nicely, and now Mr. Thread goes away.
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