serinde

I left

sweh's midafternoon, with a multi-faceted but not over-complicated program; drive south, check in on

nedlnthred's cats as she's away for the weekend (and drop off some things and pick up some things), drive on to Jersey City, drop Bud off at our favored mechanics so they can figure out what's to be done about his muffler (and give him a general check-up as I will need to drive him 500 miles in a few weeks), walk up to Journal Square, and thus home via PATH and subway. The best laid plans, etc.

My period is notably regular. That is, it always follows the exact same pattern, even if it's not something predictable down to the hour. So I know I get moopy four days before kickoff, there are screaming cramps during light flow, and then 36 hours of Crimson Fucking Tide, etc. The latter will usually begin at the worst possible moment within a 24-hour window. For instance, just before entering into a long transit experience. If I know it's coming, I'll usually belt-and-suspenders with a pad or lining if I can (whoever invented the term "sanitary napkin" should be beaten with sticks); I had none to hand. I checked before leaving Beth's and was in pretty good shape, so figured I could make it home before anything dire happened.

HA HA HA

That was when there was a switch failure at Hoboken and our PATH train sat in the tunnel a goodly while. I could feel the bleed-through--the ladies present will, I think, know exactly of what I speak--and even once we were moving again it's usually about a five-to-ten minute sit at Hoboken, 15 minutes into the city, N minutes waiting for the subway, and half an hour home. It was looking grim. Finally they bunged the switch into shape and we rolled into Hoboken, where I took the unprecedented step of getting off the train just so I could run upstairs to the can and change my tampon. This taken care of, I came back down to the platform--having to pay the fare again, I may add, and also the first fare had consumed my PATH card so I had to fill it again--and just missed the train I'd gotten off of, naturally. This proved something of a trend for the rest of the trip, as I also just missed the connection to the F train when we finally fucking got moving, and eventually made it home after a two-hour saga.

But I didn't bleed into my new, very pale blue Capris, and that's the important thing. Now if it will just not cost too much to fix the car, we will do well.