Racking Focus on my Chinny Chin Chin

 

In a spectacularly brutal test of my personal endurance as a resilient and stalwart human being, the grand epic Universe (or a sickly person in the orange juice aisle who actually LIKES pulp and put the OTHER bottle back) opted for a bit of “fun” by biblically plaguing me with a head cold on top of my usual seasonal allergies. 

(I have absolutely no proof that this pulp-loving diseased individual actually exists, but I DO firmly believe that the world is a monstrous Petri dish FULL of bacteria, and I still desire to earn millions of dollars and eventually dwell in my very own live-in Bubble.)

Sure, I slept a few hours here and there the first few nights amidst comforting sips of Vicks NyQuil dreams; but snoring or snorting myself awake with congestion every other hour since I never consumed a full dose as recommended, I pressed the “elevate head” button on “Vladimir” (my magnificent monster mattress), and laid there once again like seasoned meat stuffed in a taco shell.

Now, of course I’ve heard the adage that “misery loves company”, but I must say that my heart went out to an upstairs neighbor in my rather compact apartment building who hasn’t stopped loudly sneezing for the last two weeks.  (He sneezes FOUR times in a row, EVERY TIME!)  So, at the very least, I’m comforted that whatever seemed to be in bloom and emanating massive doses of pollen; I wasn’t alone!

But equally bothered by completely unrelated symptoms, I searched the World Wide Web for a bit of insight as to my ongoing malaise.  (And before I continue to proceed further, all Y-chromosome readers may feel free to skip this post.  No hard feelings!  Yet if you choose to continue on, hopefully you’ll find my research educational.)


Yes, this Penny is going through her Change.  (And I don’t mean the happy FUN kind when you pop open the belly of your pink piggy bank and roll coins in tiny paper bank sleeves!)  (Don’t judge me – it’s thrifty as well as fiscally savvy:  I recently tipped a delivery guy with a two dollar roll of nickels.  Some of you will appreciate the irony.)


Yet I digress, as I’m wont to do!


>>><<< 

Locating a website devoted entirely to a forum of one-page short stories published by women of all ages equally experiencing ‘the Change’, I hesitated before clicking on the link.  After all, what could I possibly learn?

Hmmm...

>>><<< 

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT Penny!” a female friend of mine piped up in a ‘feverish’ panic on the phone as I expressed my desire to blog about this particularly difficult phase in every woman’s life.  “You can’t WRITE about it!  Image in Hollywood is EVERYTHING.  Yes, it’s superficial, but that’s the MAGIC we create!  You might NEVER work again if you blog about this!” she warned me.


“Or..., I might actually gain the respect of powerful people in The Industry who applaud self-awareness, knowledge and acceptance that this is simply a fact of life that we all have to deal with” I replied Spock-logically (seasoned with a hint of Oprah).


Seriously, are we living in the Victorian Era in the Age of Technology?  By all means, feel free to post a picture of your double chocolate chip breakfast muffin on social media.  Just don’t dare mention that without a bite of chocolate, you might’ve ripped someone a “new one” at work?

>>><<< 

“Obviously I’m NOT a menopausal woman” my male friend RJ laughed long distance, but I can tell you, I have no mercy for your hot flashes.  I’m a large man, and I perspire more than anyone I know.  That’s why I keep my office freezing cold so I can still wear my favorite wool sweaters!  But the allergies, yeah I get that.  Never had allergies my whole life, but now I don’t leave the house without a handkerchief.  And I don’t know if this helps, but when my Mom went through ‘her Change’, she constantly wore her favorite t-shirt that said “I’m out of Estrogen and I have a gun.”  (I LOVE that!)

>>><<< 

After much serious contemplation, I choose to believe that rather than politically correctly hush-up, perhaps I can use this page to help at least one woman who thinks she’s going bonkers and/or a husband who thinks his wife is bat-crap crazy.

Yes, sometimes I stick my head in the freezer.  (And no, it’s not the happy FUN time of searching for a scoop of ice cream at 3:30am.)

On certain days, I’m nauseous from allergies (no longer seasonal) and I can blow through 10 Kleenexes in one minute. 

I’m often exhausted despite taking my vitamins, and I pat myself on the back if I can sleep two whole hours in a row at night.  These blissful hours are usually roused by creepy night sweats and inexplicable bouts of anxiety.  (Recently, I checked the clock, turned off the lights, slept hard for what seemed an eternity, woke up, stretched and turned the lights back on, only to discover that I had slept for exactly 18 minutes.)

Conversely, as I’m not currently employed, I find that I’m akin to one of the viral adorable sleepy puppies on YouTube, and randomly fall dead asleep midday in front of the television; the human equivalent of utter inability not to drowse into your food bowl of kibble.

Additionally, the hair on my head is thinning, which is apparently no deterrent to the fuzzy peach moustache that I seem to have inherited from my beloved Grandma Ruth on my upper lip. (Awesome!  My career happens to be in television Sit-Coms which has mostly become High-Def.  Can you zoom in for focus on that singular ebon Shakespearean witch-hag follicle that grows at an alarming rate over night?)

And difficult of a confession as this may also be - my intolerance of utterly stupid people has risen exponentially.  Some days, it’s all I can do to slap a smile on my face and pretend to be “pleasant”, all the while suppressing thoughts of slapping the snot out of incompetent idiots.  (I’m not particularly proud of these moments, but I own them.) 
  

>>><<< 

Now, if anything positive may come of this post, I just wish that women of whatever age will know that they are not alone; nor are their husbands or boyfriends, who think that they are suddenly living with a bat-crap crazy lunatic.  It is what it is!  This is obviously an awkward, undesirable phase in life, but hopefully I’ve opened the door for discussion for you and your significant others.

As for me, on the plus side (sleep deprived as I may be), I’ve learned that I’m an absolute GENIUS at boiling spaghetti around midnight. 

Additionally, my kitchen sink has never been cleaner, as occasionally taking to task helps to shake off anxiety.

But what’s best of all? 

I recently discovered a free channel (uninterrupted by commercials) on my TV of music from the 1980’s.  Cognitive development occurs at the age of 14, so yes, I’ll get out of bed and dance ala Judd Nelson, Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy to retro songs from “The Breakfast Club” at any given hour of the night.  (“You never know when you may have to jam”!)

>>><<< 

Ladies, please know that you’re not crazy.  Rather, I prefer to diagnose us as suffering from various degrees of “Mad-ness”.

And whilst I’m neither a certified doctor (albeit occasionally “certifiable”) nor am I an altruistic do-gooder, if you wish to read some personal stories that verify you haven’t lost your mind, “Project Aware” is an excellent website if you care to check it out.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my head has a date with the freezer. 

And yes, at least for today, this will be the FUN happy time when I pillage for chocolate Haagen Dazs!

Yours in a hot flash,

~P

 p.s. I'm LOATHING Google right now that it won't format my page correctly translated from Word Document, FFS.  It's MADNESS, I tell you!