Raging hormones

An affliction of youth and pregnant women (PMS is an optimistic male view of naturally bad tempered women).

While I have the vast resources and innate ability to display the daftness of youth and get pregnant, a mere spike in estrogen levels can hardly justify my current state of extreme disequilibrium. Furiously engaging my elegantly shod foot in a ceaseless staccato is about as helpful as holding my head in my hands and breathing deeply in an effort to subdue my elevated cardiopulmonary activities. My body continues to thrum, an over taut bowstring ready to snap at the first twang. Fortunately, Silke manages to mute the boiiing sounds on Pascale’s laptop relieving me of the necessity of explaining just why I hurled it out the window. This is bloody ridiculous.

I glare at the pile of brazil nuts strewn next to me, and they look back earnestly. I go back to clutching my head, but my body shifts restlessly, demanding intervention. This call of the wild feeling is now moving from the middlingly aggravating to a desire to claw the walls. This is not good. I feel like a caged wolf instead of a happy bunny. I want to sink my teeth into something warm and alive. Feel its heart beating against me, hear it howl (either I’m going to be inundated by shocked emails, or avoided like a carnivorous plague….). Winner takes all.

All this teeth gritting is giving me a profound headache. I retire to the little room in the distant corner to write pithy (another impeccable word) comments about what I think of our US marketing team, instead of choking poor Pascale. This would have been a good day to work from home…..