Cramps

Menstruation must be one of the trickiest processes in nature. That's my opinion anyway. Most women, come to think of it, every woman I've ever talked to about it has lamented about it. Hate is a strong word, but if there was ever anything to hate it would be a steady flow of blood the spews from the body out of our treasure chest ever three weeks. I hate it. It costs so much to be a woman. And I'm not just talking about the ridiculous cost of Kotex.

I recently agreed to a writing assignment for Rapstar Magazine that I'd consider a great opportunity to share information with the public as well it would nicely add to my clips. I met with my principle interview and his fiancee a few weeks ago at Everett & Jones Barbeque in Oakland's Jack London Square. He is the uncle of Oscar Grant, the 22 year old black man fatally shot by a BART police officer New Year's Day 2009. The uncle who has founded a foundation in Grant's honor, The Oscar Grant Foundation. His fiancee, is it's director.

The three of us had a great talk about how we'd like to proceed with the article. I wanted him to know that I would write a thoughtful piece, which in order to do I needed access to interview other principles, particularly Grant's mother and the mother of his child. He agreed to see what he could do. He and his fiancee then invited me to the Oscar Grant Foundation's reading festival for children. I agreed to attend, knowing I could adjust my schedule to make it that day to the event.

As it turned out, that gorgeous Saturday morning came with an ever unwelcomed guest, Aunt Flow. Ugh. Cramps. Motrin in the house, zero. I left Johnson a message that I was "not feeling well."  I hung the phone up just knowing I looked like a complete flake. After all it wasn't exactly flu season. Meeting his fiancee too, I didn't want to be inappropriate and reveal my cycle. It would have been tmi. My etiquette would not allow it. The chances it would have been taken for tacky or crazy would have been too great.

Riding the crimson tide is a lonesome misadventure. Which brings me to another topic. Most people just don't want to hear about your personal hell or abject misery. They just don't have time for your pain. Fact is on any given day hundreds of millions of ladies are cycling, yet the world manages to go around. We must just pull up our big girl period panties and just keep pushing forward without missing a beat.

With my cramps tearing at my womb without the meds to stop it, I had to concede defeat. Hopefully, I can work my way into better graces with Grant's uncle and his fiancee. Why I allow myself to ever run out of Motrin must be examined. Is it subconscious sabotage? Probably so. Am I being hard on myself?  Probably so. Is Motrin on the shopping list? Definitely.