Kill the Mystical Feminists….

This afternoon I felt the tell-tale tension beneath my belly, and then a slithering sensation in my vagina. I sighed, I went to the bathroom. I did my thing and may have bitched at the universe at large for a couple of minutes before going back to watching The Syndicate Project’s Twitch channel. Three hours later and I’m curled up in bed and trying to ignore the pain in my uterus by archive binging on Sarah Anne Lawless’s blog, and I have to say that it isn’t working, kinda like the ibuprofen I took half an hour ago.

Periods suck….period.

I am aware that there are people out there who would point out that there is something mystical and magical and purely feminine about them. Some of those people might say that while they aren’t comfortable, the pain is a divine thing. And to those people I proudly raise my middle finger and say fuck you. There ain’t nothing divine about this.

Whipping my back with a cat o’nine- that’s divine.

Slowly cutting off my own air supply- divine, even though it sounds scary and unpoetic.

Menstrual cramps do not equal divine. They equal blood dirtying my panties and four hours of pain on the first day, missing a few minutes of class every hour just to make sure you didn’t bleed through.

Periods are damn inconvenient, and that’s all they are.

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