Lucretia Nerves

Ahh there is nothing like PMS coinciding with an opera adventure. It has this great way of clouding my judgment, causing me to fear the worst and take offense where none was given. PMS, that is, not the adventure. In short, it (PMS) makes me clinically insane. Luckily to those around me, I'm dangerous only to myself. (Please do not ask Husband his opinion as he would no doubt disagree and then I'd have to be all offended and then I'd forget why I was offended but it wouldn't matter because PMS does that. And heaven help him if he asks if I'm premenstrual.) Actually, now that I think about it, operatic adventures infect me with their own brand of insanity. It's a good thing Banawoman will be with me on Friday to slap some sense into me. Because I know that while I have posted the photos and links to articles and and interviews, I have been studiously avoiding the tiny fact that I am going to be there, in the theater, in the 4th row, on Friday. There. I've said it. I am going to see an opera about how a woman's life is ruined because some dude rapes her to prove a point. And I know that there's more to the opera than that - there's the whole religious thing, and no doubt a political spin - but it's bound to be upsetting. The whole idea makes me nervous. And then not to mention the unmentionable. People are on me to get another picture and I am on those people to leave me alone and let me leave the unmentionable alone. Talk about insane - I get the feeling that that entire entourage thinks I'm fragile in that, "Be gentle, she's going to blow!" way. And I also think that that entire entourage should know by now, from the last three months of blog posts that they've been reading, that I'm not, I don't and I won't. Either way, it's in everyone's best interest if I avoid the whole "new photo" opportunity.

There, was that cryptic enough for you?