Some letters I really needed to get off my chest, immediately.

Dear Uterus,

Just so you know, it would totally be okay with me if you wanted to just… you know… leave. For awhile. Get out. GO AWAY. Consider it a vacation, whatever! WE really don’t need one another right now anyway, right? And the ripping, tearing, and cramping pain you’re causing me today is really not what I’d call “pleasant” or “enjoyable” or even “moderately bearable.” It’s more like “excruciating” and it “sucks ass.” It makes me want to “smash myself in the head with a sledge hammer to numb all feeling in my body.”

You’re also creating quite a mess around here. I, for one, don’t appreciate the stained crotches in my underwear that I can never seem to avoid when you start doing your special thing every month. Furthermore, I’m quite tired of feeling like a regularly tapped keg of Hawaiian Punch.

In case you’re trying to leave a “trail” because you were thinking I was lost in the woods and needed to find my way home, let me set you straight. I’m just fine, here at home, and there are no witches trying to eat me. (In fact, as long as you keep it up, Uterus, NO ONE is going to be trying to eat me. Thanks for that!)

So, really, please treat yourself to a Bahamas Cruise several times in a row, or a couple of months in Europe. Really, that would be great. Hell, go spelunking in some caves somewhere and get eaten by bats for all I care. I just think we need some time apart.

It’s not me. It’s you.

Your Encasement,
Lotus

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Dear Mind/Brain, Back, Stomach, and Legs,

Look. Just because Uterus gets the notion once a month to start acting like a total jerkface doesn’t mean that you should, too. I would really appreciate a little support here. I mean, at a time when I’m literally feeling like The Evil Undead is clawing its way out of my gut, you could step up to the plate and try to help me hold things together instead of chiming in with The Chorus of Pain and Insanity.

But no, you’re just a bunch of shameless lemmings. If you weren’t attached to me, I would say something like, “I hope you just fall off/out/rot/die/snap.”

But, um, don’t do any of that. Please.

Holding Onto Last Shred Of Sanity
(for as long as mind allows me to, damn you, mind)
Lotus

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Dear Eve,

It was a SNAKE.

AN EFFIN SNAKE!

Really? You had to listen to a SNAKE?

I HATE YOU.

One of Your Many Daughters, Bound To Your Sin,
Lotus