Stephen King does this thing where he talks about a feeling or thought process as if it were commonplace and his readers totally get where he’s coming from, when in reality, we’re all left a touch scarred just from reading it.

It’s possible that absolutely no one will relate to this post but, like King, I wouldn’t write it if I didn’t think anyone would understand.

This past week, Fluid Engineer and I have been trading messages, trying to find a time to get together again. He asked on Monday, but didn’t say anything more about meeting Wednesday until literally less than 12 hours from when we would’ve had to get together. He’s not from the ‘burbs, so I’m fine with a touch of the back and forth discussion of what to do, but not at the last minute. Had he texted with an actual suggestion, I’d have been game, but we didn’t have time for the “I don’t care, what do you want to do?” bit, so I politely declined until next week. I was a little disappointed, though, because this is the time of the month that I am most likely to… well, like him. 

One reason I knew Fluid Engineer was worth my time was that I still wanted to see him after our first date, despite the fact that I was just about to… how to put this delicately… curl into the fetal position for a day and bleed like a stuck pig.

Okay, okay, I promised I’d try not to be too detailed in this post, so I’ll just say that I am physically ill for a couple of days out of the month. I’ve missed work before and I cannot eat. The second I get me some of that elusive health insurance, I’m going to see a doctor who doesn’t call me a liar or shame me for not sleeping with every man I meet, because it wasn’t like this before my miscarriage. I may be dying.

Fortunately, I met Fluid Engineer literally hours before I got sick, but I was at a point where I kind of only want to speak to people if I’m required. Even the most well adjusted woman can’t possibly want to have an online date at this point in her cycle. I’ve had to plan enough dates around such a busy schedule that I’ve realized the odds of my wanting to see a man again are substantially lower if I feel like my body is metabolizing itself. It’s not that I’m an intensely difficult person to deal with for a week out of the month. In fact, I think this is a terrible excuse to treat anyone with disrespect and uttering it pretty much disgraces all women everywhere. No, this isn’t some kind of bait and switch where a guy meets me and I’m smiling and pleasant and then sees me two weeks later and I go all velociraptor on him.

As a person, even on my worst day, I’m just more likely to burst into tears because a dog died in a book and that’s sort of the only time I cry anyway. For realz, I had to concentrate to not tear up on my second date with Fluid Engineer, because we saw Jurassic World and those poor dinosaurs died because the uber dinosaur was killing them for sport and they looked so sad…

… yeah. I didn’t shed a tear when Dumbledore died, but they stopped drawing the dinosaur and it broke my heart.

I control myself because I’m an adult and I acknowledge that other people have feelings, especially the ones I love. That doesn’t mean I want to try with a stranger, when I don’t feel well. The reverse is true, also, though. I’ll give a guy a second date, despite his having 40 pounds on his profile picture, just because my ovaries are doing gumball machine cosplay. I’m not even kidding, y’all. The men I’ll give a chance when I’m ovulating… it’s worse than doing shots. Fortunately, most of these encounters occur online and by the time we start discussing meeting, I’ve come down from my cursed natural high and realized that I can’t date a man without a job, the ability to wear a ball cap without a flat bill, or who happens to be closer to my dad’s age than mine.

On an average date, however, I have to fight my natural instincts to be a judgmental cunt. His voice is too high, or his fingers are too short, or his eyes are too close together, or he squints too much or I’M GOING TO DIE ALONE. So, I’m really disappointed that I wasn’t able to fit a date in during the time of the month that I’m guaranteed not to convince myself never to speak to Fluid Engineer again because I think his walk is too jaunty. I just want to fall in love, but it’s so hard to do when I’m such a hopelessly self-sabotaging bitch!