Sunday, May 21, 2006


At last I have some respite from the heat and misery of hot flashes -- sherbet.

I spent the night either tossing the covers off or burrowing into them with the fan on and a bottle of water on the night stand that was soon gone. And don't forget the frequent trips to the bathroom to continue draining the Hindenburg in between reading, tossing, turning, fighting covers, and watching the latest episode of Doctor Who I downloaded onto my beautiful laptop.

I consulted with the landlady on the way home from the grocery store laden with $1 half gallons of sherbet about my soy toxicity versus menopause question and she informed me it was menopause and I should stop fooling myself. "Welcome to my world," she said with a diabolical grin while she told me about her passage through the change. She also told me a single glass of soy milk cooled her thermostat problems but I explained I had been drinking the equivalent of seven glasses of soy milk every morning, liberally blended with fruit, and the symptoms started two days before. I was hoping for soy toxicity (and I'm still hoping so I have taken my morning soy and fruit shake off the menu today) but had a sneaking suspicion she was right. Menopause. Nowhere can I find mention of water retention and problems concentrating as symptoms of soy toxicity. I can't even find hot flashes or head exploding from heat in the symptoms. I have to face the truth. Father Time is battling Mother Nature and he's winning. Dirty old man!

It isn't that I have any use for my remaining once functional but now sputtering ovary, except to help a hermaphroditic friend by allowing her to implant some of my eggs in her newly reconstructed female parts to allow her to bear a child, but is my ovary and my hedge against hormone replacement therapy and a host of other problems: going crazy like my mother, making friends and loved ones fear the hell spawned demon female in the clutches of raging and moaning whores (hormones for the uninitiated) and hair sprouting and flourishing on parts of my body long devoid of wiry black hairs in need of a good mowing. I like my voice the way it is and I even enjoy the remaining plump womanly curves of hips and breasts. Honest, I do.

However, the truth is as plain as my butt that follows me at a distance of a long city block that the change is upon me.

Just keep that in mind when my moaning whores are sputtering their last gasps and I'm railing incoherently at anything and everything. Somewhere in the midst of all this storm and fury my logical, sensible and funny self is still here hiding until the weather breaks and the sun shines down on a changed me.

Time for more sherbet.

That is all. Disperse.

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