156 (12 x 13)

I want to say that its because we have taken a beating at the youthful sprightly age of 26 that makes us cry at all things odd and inane but it would be a self effacing truth. It is the monthly curse. A curse it was known in the medieval times for many a woman even took to sequestering herself when she was plagued by this red horned devil.

Bitter pill: it would be so pacifying to name all the hormones and the chemicals that cause the unstoppable unexpected out pour of tears at all Hallmark moments. It would be more pacifying to dig into that tub of Belgians chocolate ice cream that followed that large bag of salties.

It seems as we grow older, it does gets harder to sort out our emotions into neat little categories and run a statistical analysis on it. Without wanting to sound like Andy Field, the author of the giganomous book I need to wade through, it is the truth. When I was younger, my emotions might have been a lot more complicated, but there were fewer variables that caused that much angst. Now, at this age, its getting harder and harder to stay in the loop of my own distress cycles!

When I see a dog movie and cry, I know its because I amongst a few odd thousand love my pets more than most people I know. When I cry in the middle of a sap fest in a TV series...ahh maybe its just my period. It could be the art of multitasking that cannot defy the limitations of scientifically measured time. Or maybe its just the fact that all my co conspirators (read amigas) are constantly worrying about being past 25 and not having found the "one".

I could go on about all the new variables that can create our tear ducts to work over time. And I know that my mother would say the same thing to such a tirade as she has been since a few years now "Find a husband so there is someone to take care of you and someone to be support you when you grow old and...", so she would go on.

I say, yes, at the end of every third week, we begin a new cycle that reminds us that we are still a unified part of this reproductive cosmos (not that all of us desire to add to the number of mouths to be fed globally). While we are young, most of us will not realise that this "curse" is actually a heavy (pun intended) reminder of our fertility. Of our ability to create, carry and care for a new life. But. And this is the important 'but'. We are the first generation of women who can actually know the value of the monthly visit that turns us into a devil and we are the first generation who are liberated enough to make a knowledgeable decision. Its not a monthly clock, its not a biological alarm (or warfare!); its a choice that we have.

Husband, man, donor, sperm, in vitro, test tube, adoption or a cat.