TMI

Every time this time of the month rolls around, I recite the few lines I remember from a 319 poem: "It's a relief / when the blood comes." I didn't particularly like the rest of the poem--are you supposed to like 319 workshops?--but I can't shake those lines. And the thought that maybe this should be a relief. But right now my legs are cramping up and I know any craving I satisfy will result in stomachaches for what will seem like forever. I'm sure there are worse things. I'm sure I'll experience worse things. But right now, there's no relief.