I’m moody. (Certain family members will be going “duh” right now.) My latest dark mood started in earnest yesterday and gathered steam last night. Today I would warn anyone from telling me to smile or requiring me to watch “Terms of Endearment.”
I have a pretty good idea that the culprit is, once more, my body’s “everything in excess” approach to hormone usage.
The worst part about being jerked around by one’s own hormones is that there is no way for me to know whether my feelings are genuine or manufactured by my own pituitary demons for their black-hearted amusement. Because most of the time I can come up with a perfectly logical reason (say, an off-the-cuff query about the real need to watch “Animal Cops” yet again) for wanting to tear someone’s throat out, which, come morning, may seem a little out of balance, but at the time, seems merciful.
One would think that a glance at the calendar would serve the purpose, but as any husband knows, even looking in the direction of a calendar during a hormone storm could cause bloody casualties and lasting scars. And as I age, the calendar is less and less useful, if I were in any mood to look.
I wish I could get some sort of hormonal update download that would give me a hint when my hormones were pulling the strings. Maybe a hum in my left ear, or a little blind spot in the upper left-hand corner of my eye. It would have to be something obvious to me alone (not, like, a red spot on my forehead that could be diagnosed by others). Otherwise, the possible helpful comments of loved ones would only result in further shrieking devastation.
I have to say, I keep things under control a little better than an earlier version of myself had. Now, I usually just come across as distant and cold. Which, if they could only see into the dark, black, Marvel Comics-style mayhem going on under the surface, they would kneel and bow at my feet.