Losing My Mind.

“Let thy food by thy medicine, thy medicine be thy food”.

– Hippocrates.

I have been doing a great number of odd things today.

My day began with a rather lousy Bikram yoga class. I fell out of most poses, I couldn’t do much on my tummy and fought like buggery for the entire 90 minutes to not curl up in to a ball and fall very much asleep.

I then received a call from a delightful young man in London, but the phone cut out for one reason or another– rendering me pulpy and dry– walking through the city and the rain wondering what has become of my mind.

My afternoon was fairly uneventful also. I slept a lot. I cried a lot. I nursed a minging headache. And then somehow managed to find the impetus to clean my fridge. It’s now clean. Todays greatest achievement. Well done Lex.

I had a couple of applications to mail off and a 1000 words to write, which I didn’t. I achieved neither. I did, however purchase a bright red toilet seat cover, which was odd, as I’ve never felt inclined to make a such a purchase in my entire life. And then there was the labored business of figuring out how to affix the fucking thing. The instructions were in Chinese and I almost sobbed with my head in the toilet bowl as it all became too hard. Then I cleaned the toilet bowl, because, on further inspection, it too could’ve been cleaner. It now is. Well, hang on, that’s two things I achieved. Arguably three.

Oh and I did peg my iPod at a wall– because it appears to have broken– and in a stroke of genius I figured pegging it at the wall would help. It didn’t.

What is wrong with me?





I then made a big, organic vegan roast which made my apartment smell delightful, yet I’ve eaten none of it. I don’t care to now. The thought repulses me. Weird.

I feel about a billion kilograms heavier than I did yesterday. Which is kind of impossible and kind of an exaggeration. My skin is foul. My hair, a very close foul second. My feet are aching. My boobs are tender pin cushions. And I’m a riot hoot to be chilling with right now. Seriously. A real barrel of laughs.

What I find so curious though, is this: I’ve been menstruating since I was 11 years old, and yet, every month, as I get clumsy and tired and sore and sad I always seem to forget why.

As the progesterone vanishes and the estrogen soars– I always seem to forget.

This will pass Lex. It really will.


Oh dear.

So what becomes of the maddened woman?

Do we lock her up? Sedate her? Tuck her in to bed and feed her things that are warm and comforting? Tell her she’s lovely even though, by all accounts, she’s actually pretty vile?

I dunno.

If I knew I’d be writing about how much I know.

But I know nothing.

I blame this on the date.

As I sentence myself to an evening of researching black cohosh and indigenous healing rituals.

Bloody hell…

One Response to “Losing My Mind.”
  1. Hedley Galt says:

    Ah yes, now I you know where I was at on Thursday. Not-pleasant-city… so not a fun place to hang. But f@#king amazing post. Amazing! Thank you!

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