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This week, I’ve been a shoe and life has been a piece of discarded bubble gum, stuck to me like, well, gum on a shoe.  Everything gnaws; the sound of the clock, the murmur of the television, the barking of dogs, the telephone.   When the Viking Ragnar told his original wife that he’d like to have another wife in addition to her, I cried.  Don’t ask me why I was watching the Vikings, because I have never wanted to watch this show in my life before this week. But this week, I’m all invested in the Vikings.  I have huffed up into a ball of indignant anger over politics, the state of my dishwasher, and the personal actions of someone I have never met who lives in a foreign country.  Normally, these are all things I would not whip myself into a lather over.  This week, I’m stuck.

I’m stuck, and I know the cause. The pause with men in it tinkers with my hormones.  And I know when this pause hits, I’m about as reasonable as a three year old and emotionally stable as one of the Manson chicks.  It’s like being an adolescent, only this time around you have the maturity to stand back and watch yourself acting all out of whack, only this time around you have shame to accompany you on your journey to looney land.  The pause with men in it leaves you feeling like Loki in this clip from the Avengers.

After Loki got hulked, he got to lay around and groan.  Then he went on a year’s haitus before filming his next adventure, in which he got to die a hero.  When the Men-O- Hulk grabs me by my unmentionables and leaves me in a stunned mess, groaning is not allowed.  I have work to do, a house to clean, blogs to write, novels to write, bills to pay, and people to take care of.

So I marshal my waning estrogen, and pray that my mental crimes don’t come shooting out of my mouth at the wrong moment.  But if I did a small crime, leading to a jail sentence of say, two days a month for the next three years– that might work.  Do you think they would let me watch The Vikings?

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