The Ghosts of Genetic’s Past

My cramps and overall terrible nature of the side effect pertaining to the my period get worst, albeit only marginally, every month.  At this point in my almost mid thirties, it’s like that my heritage and evolutionary demands are mad at me for being childless, for going not being pregnant month after month, for not exercising the full extent of my uterus.  A determined army of ninjas drum a little louder every month, a chorus of knocking knees nag louder, and pack of miniature bears claw a little more frantically every month.

No no it’s not that aching uterus complex that people talk about, it’s not that ticking clock that people refer to, I am talking about the revenge of the demon gods of my ancestors.  Slowly they are shedding my insides, angry at my refusal to follow into my path of female role fulfillment.  Grrrr curse you back you monster of genetics!  You phantoms of routine!  You ghosts of nature’s past!   Back off, and let a woman work for a living.

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