Some days, I think guys have all the luck. Not that I’m complaining—at least not more than usual. I know all too well that I should be grateful for the prescription that tricks my body every month so that I’m not feverish, breaking out in a cold sweat, vomiting, or suffering The Cramps From Hell. But after years of relative comfort and bliss, I suddenly feel like I’m 60 years old and menopausal.

In other words, why the hell am I getting migraines, hot flashes, and night sweats?

Last night, I had one of the most uncomfortable nights in a long while. I went to bed with a migraine and woke up in the middle of the night with an even bigger migraine. I was hot, I was sleeping in the wet spot, and unfortunately that state of affairs was not a result of whore-like activity; that state of affairs was a result of my hormonal body stopping just short of spontaneous combustion.

I don’t get it. I used to be the sort of person who was always cold. My extremities were always degrees colder than room temperature—it’s true! I used to stick my cold dead feet in nice warm places, and people would scream bloody murder until I pulled my feet back again. Once, during a heat wave, everyone around me was shedding clothes and drinking ice water while I walked around in a mock turtleneck and chilly hands.

Heck, H.E. would joke that if the power ever went out, forget the fridge, all I had to do to keep the food nice and cool was put my hands on it. He’d even joke that I was a cold-blooded creature and that next time, he was getting a girl with blood! One who didn’t make his balls shrivel up and die whenever she put her feet between his legs.

I did have blood though, and I was warm in places—between my legs, primarily. And to keep my hands warm, well … hey, don’t look at me like that; I had to keep them warm somehow!

But now … now my hands are so warm that all I really want to do with them is flap them silly. Even typing is too much activity. My fingers are burning up, the fingertips throbbing a bit from the pulse, the blood engorging every extremity I have—even my hairs. Oh, goodness. My hair is so hot.

I am so hot, so very, very hot. If I end up never having posted the tutorials I promised, or even ever again, please know that I have spontaneously combusted, drowned in my sweat while I slept, or died of heat stroke and utter dehydration.

Menopausal at 31 years old. H.E. is always telling me I’m ahead of my time. Well, in this case, I am definitely a prodigy.

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