Katie Schwartz

I feel menstrually betrayed. My sister and her BFF began menstruating on Friday without me. No memo was sent to my womb. Here I sit in a PMS stupor going it solo. While in the car with her last night, I courted her hormones with champagne, strawberries, chocolate, salty potato chips-n-dip, anything to entice the mones to mingle with mine so wombareena would bleed. This morning... bupkas. Refresh. Sigh. In an effort to drag myself out of the thyroid closet that I've been living in for the past five plus years, here's the dish: I got fabbylish news last night from my endocrinologist about my thyroid. I'm 14 points away from having a balanced thyroid. Having been severely hyper and hypothyroid for so long, those 14 points have taken my wig off, I'm over the moon. Your thyroid regulates your mind and body. If that bitch goes awry, all bets are off-- youse are all kinds of jacked whether you're hypothyroid or hyperthyroid . Anyhoodle, in my forthcoming title (Emotiona

One of the poems I fell madly, wildly and desperately in love with is in the pages of one of the books I'm reading at the minee, " Women of the Beat Generation ". So in love, I can't put it down. Apartment on Twin Peaks , Written by Helen Adam : I remember, when the moon shines clear How I'd whisper in my husband's ear Like a dentist saying "Open wider" "Don't you want to be a good provider?" "Don't you want to be the gracious host In a lovely home of which you're proud to boast? When my girl friends come to call We've got to have carpeting from wall to wall." After the carpeting he fought and bled Trapped in the jaws of the Davenport bed! He screamed as he vanished up the vacuum spout. In triple-sealed bags it spat him out. We chased his skull across the Twin Peaks stones. Maud's pet Chihuahuas ate the rest of his bones. Another gnawed ghost, another gone man, Another mild husband in the garbage can Served up