It must be weird to go to the blog of a single gal in her early thirties and read about hormones outside of the context of just plain HAVING THEM and wanting to date various men as a result.

Believe me, I think it’s weird, too.

And what’s also weird?

Is being back on the whole replacement trip. Because WOOOOO! If you want to feel both ill and bananacakes all at once?

I got your ship right here, sailor.

But I don’t want to write about it all the time with wry observations about “changes” and “womanhood” and “heart journeys” because I’m really not that girl. Or more importantly, I’m still a girl! I am not ready for all of this!

People keep directing me to various pages and forums where I could discuss the things I’m going through, but when I click on the links, I’m surrounded by people my mom’s age (NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT) who have kids and major past or present relationships and condos and pets and pantsuits and 48th birthdays and other things I haven’t had yet.

If I post my story, I just get a lot of people freaking out that I can’t have babies, that I’m not married, that I’m so young and IT MUST BE SO HORRIBLE. Which is not really the perspective I’m looking for.

No one can really tell me I’m normal, which is fine.

But to not feel like a complete alien? Would be awesome.

Which is very much what I feel like right now, physically, emotionally, etc.

I want to bite people. Or just shove them around a little. Or take a nap. Or sing really loudly. Or eat a Costco-full of tortilla chips. Or get a massage. Or a pedicure. Or remove my head and/or torso. Or throw up. Or cry and cry and cry.

But.

None of these things are on the agenda for now.

What is on the agenda?

I’m taking things personally that I know I shouldn’t, reacting fiercely when I know it’s not justified, thinking about stuff that doesn’t usually cross my mind, and wanting to rant about things that don’t matter.

On the inside, that is.

You’d never be able to tell, other than those occasional moments when I flush bright red and type with a little more passion. I’m pretty good at dealing.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t hate it.

I wish there was a witty way to discuss all of this. But all the jokes that seem funny about this to women twenty years older than me just seem like a smack in the face right now.

I’ll show you a “power surge”, all right. IN THE NOSE.

So, yeah. I know that men will be thinking AAAAA! THIS IS NOT SOMETHING I WANT TO READ ABOUT! HOW DID I GET HERE! and women will either go NOT TO ME, PLEASE! or BEEN THERE DONE THAT, but every now and then, despite the fact that I haven’t found the humour in all this yet?

I gotta write about it.

And by the time I am Nora’s age?

I will TOTALLY have it down.