My Menopausal Monster
Its 200 degrees and I’m sweating like I’m standing in the open sun in the middle of the desert. I’m yanking my hair up off my neck and fanning myself with a Domino’s pizza flyer someone stuck in my mailbox. I’ve stripped down to a tank top and shorts and I’m sitting on my front steps in the middle of the night in February. In ten minutes, I’ll be wrapped up in a fleece blanket, falling blissfully back to sleep until the next round of hot flash. I feel tired most of the time. I’ll be awake for thirty minutes, still enjoying that first cup of coffee and I will start to nod off as the morning news drones on in the background like a soft lullaby. For a girl who used to stay up past midnight reading books, it's almost laughable to see me struggle to keep my eyes open at eight-thirty at night. Dark hair has begun to appear on my chin. Just one or two. So now plucking is a ritual, al...