The word ‘peri-menopausal’ jumps out at me a lot these days. All the doctors I have happened to meet in the last 2 years, usually family friends, or family, or friends, and half of them women – for a cold, or fever, stomach upset or palpitations, or just because they are there – ask me how old I am, and then say, ‘peri-menopausal’. And family or friends who are not doctors, and all women too, suggest gently, ‘peri-menopausal?’ And maybe only I can sense it, but everyone’s noses pucker up a little at the word, just a little, the way my nose puckers up when I am sniffing inside a tiny box I got out of the freezer, at something I no longer recognize, wondering what the hell it is, when I put that in, if I can actually do anything with it, apart from killing my family, if in fact, it is food anymore or has acquired a life of its own?
Usually the contents of the tiny box just go into the garbage because I don’t really fancy killing anyone at all, though I have been wanting to slap people a lot. Or at least people who annoy me. And I have been getting annoyed a lot. But I haven’t slapped anyone yet.
Or tipped myself into the garbage. Instead I have been skulking and sulking and sobbing, and whining, oh, lots of whining, and moping, not coping, and definitely not smiling. I have been thinking of those times when I smiled too much, smiled when I had reason not to, when I ought not to have, when I did not need to, when I should not have, or just because. And though I am not so good at misery, and it does not do as much for my cheekbones as a smile, I am determined to be grumpy .
‘Peri-menopausal’ is a good time to stop being nice. Even if you are not really nice, in the first place. No one can blame you.
It is also a good time to be lazy, to shop more, to stop feeling guilty or responsible, to take days off from reading the newspapers, to procrastinate and allow your tax penalties to pile up, to stop cooking or putting things in the freezer, or removing things from the freezer, or to be clever and just pass on the jobs you don’t want to do, to someone else.
We were watching ‘Manhattan Murder Mystery‘ the other day, a scene where Diane Keaton and Woody Allen get stuck in the elevator, and Woody Allen is going on and on about his claustrophobia, panicking, almost fainting, pushing his face and nose into the elevator wall. My claustrophobia has got worse, moved from locked doors and small rooms to flights to darkness, to being stuck in a car in traffic, to watching traffic from my window. Allen makes my phobia manageable, because he makes his own laughable.
Can anyone remember if he has done anything on ‘peri-menopausal’? The only person who can get me through this funk is Woody Allen.
banno, dhanno and teja in bumm-bumm-bhole-land 
Uhuh.
If you’re determined to be grumpy to make up for the times you were smiley, then I guess there is nothing to be said. Cept that you will require to be extra smiley for the times you’ve been grumpy. Be warned.
Hmm, AKM, that sounds frightening.
Having just rewatched Manhattan and Annie Hall last week, I think it is safe to say that Woody Allen is perimenopausal, perhaps even the anthropormorphization of it.
I think so too, Beth.
Banno, had to smile ruefully at your post. It resonates, and how! I sometimes wonder who the woman in the mirror who stares back at me today. I also used to smile – for any and all reasons, and sometimes for no reason at all. Now? 😦 So yes, I can empathise.
ps: I also feel pretty murderous (or suicidal, depending on my mood of the moment) when I hear ‘peri-menopausal’. 😦 😦
Anu, I definitely feel murderous. 🙂
Sorry to hear you’re feeling down but your post made me smile. Been there, done that, got through to the other side.
Amasc, YES! The other side is what keeps me going.
We’re none of us straightforward, Banno, and , too, love Woody Allen for the way he pokes fn at himself and somehow makes it ok. Laughter is a strong draught.
Kate, it certainly is. Sometimes though, one forgets to laugh. 🙂
I’d feel grumpy and murderous too if everyone were so dismissive of my troubles. It’s either all in our head, or in our uterus.
Lekhni, Yes. What surprises me is that even women can be so dismissive of head-hormone problems sometimes.
Trying to imagine you being grumpy and failing miserably!
It’s not too bad being post-menopausal either.
Ever since the spouse turned sixty he decided that he could now speak his mind.
I guess I can too, post-menopausally:)
Ah, Dipali, it’s time we meet again. And you can meet my new, grumpy avatar. Yes, definitely, as we grow older, it becomes easier to be what you are, to say what you think. 🙂
Yes indeed we must meet- it’s been more than four years now 😦
I still can’t imagine you grumpy, though 🙂
Dipali, Wow, Can’t believe it’s been 4 years.