No Menopausal Exorcists for Me!

Today I’m battling apathy, but I don’t care enough to do anything about it. I’m having one of THOSE days. A few days ago I sat in a dark theater watching the movie “The Help” and had a complete emotional breakdown, including loud snubbing.

Most menopausal sites are about drugs and hormones and things to take to avoid the experience. I, for one, would like to relish it. This is as close to possession as I will ever get, and I’d like to study it. For example:

  • Why did I throw an envelope across the room this morning because I messed up the address three times?
  •  Why did I mess up the address three times?
  •  Why did I start to cry when I saw the numbers peeling off my mailbox?
  •  Why did I answer the phone today as if I wanted to murder the person on the other end . . . before I even knew who she was?
  •  Why did I slam the back door almost breaking the glass because I let in a moth?
  •  Why did I look in the mirror this morning and say ” Eff you”?

Perhaps I should call a menopausal exorcist, although I hear that those no longer exist because the priests decided they’d rather deal with demons.

Or, maybe, I’ll use my power.

Just imagine:

  • I’m standing in line at the DMV when they tell me it will be another hour before they get to my number. My head spins all the way around. Suddenly, I’m at the front of the line.
  • I’m sitting behind an idiot at the movies who decides to talk on his cell phone. I let loose with a deep, demonic growl – right in his ear. He hangs up immediately.
  • I’m waiting to de-board a plan when the rude man who doesn’t pay attention to women over fifty refuses to let me into the aisle. I do that weird, crab-like crawl across the ceiling until I reach the front of the plane. That will teach him.

Forget the exorcists. I’m using my powers.