I woke up this morning feeling like a pile of garbage. My period blood has started (which announced itself a week before with bad pain). I also caught an annoying cold or something similar. The reason might be the transition weather jumping from summer to fall. Nobody knows what to wear and our body temperature, if not trained, changes from hot to cold causing the destabilization of our immune system, and eventually weakens it.

Being in a bodily state such as mine makes you perceive the world around you differently. Two heavy and natural “healing” and “clearing out” processes take place in me at the same time. My hormones are probably having a mental breakdown right now. But, I don’t notice any massive mood changes? Apart from a few bad arguments I had with a very close person to me. It got me thinking though. Not the argument, well this too, but my physical state at this moment in time should actually have an emotional effect on me. First thing I did when I woke up was make myself a pot of tea with lemon and sugar, picked up my heart mug, made myself a heating bottle for stomach pains, and went back upstairs. I wasn’t hungry or curious about anything. I didn’t speak to anybody. I went straight to bed, prepared to serve my time there and turned some music on. After finishing my tea, I fell asleep for another hour and a half and when I woke up again, I felt more like crap. Blocked nose all day long every day, smoky voice (I love it, another honest confession), runny nose, heavy head, dry lips, oily hair, tired face, heavy eyes. Funny, how women are transformed when they enter their famous periods. The cold just makes me weaker and deprives me of my daily routine due to the zombie appearance I am stuck in.

I always wondered and never understood why I don’t have a diary. I write many things down on pieces of paper, on my phone, on my laptop, write letters and long texts, but I don’t have that one particular place where I can reminisce over collected memories, experiences and lessons learned. I was asked the other day why I don’t lead a proper diary and I didn’t know what to reply. Maybe that’s the “unfinished” side of me once again, making a sudden appearance on that matter; the side of me that doesn’t care much about diaries or writing regularly. This side that doesn’t care about having daily struggles to be written down and absorbed by the inhumane powers of the circle of trust, known as “Dear Diary…“.

I’m actually feeling like a much worse version of the Bridgette Jones movies, which luckily have never been filmed, and probably never will be.