I Think I Have That Condition Where PMS Is A Disease

Mine is pretty bad. I'm either really angry at everything for two days or really sad. My husband says he prefers sad PMS to angry PMS because angry PMS is scary. This month, it's sad. I couldn't sleep last night and at 3am told my husband I couldn't calm my brain down and stop thinking horrible thoughts. He asked me what I was thinking about and I said "cancer." I'll let you in on a secret. I have these things that I call "daymares" where I envision scary, painful, or tragic things happening. Example: we were walking the dog recently and passed a tree on a rough, uneven sidewalk with a little 8inch high wrought iron fence around it. I envisioned myself tripping on the uneven pavement to fall sideways, cracking my head open on the tree and falling down onto the wrought iron fence, which would puncture my side torso plus a few organs, thus impaling and killing me. I have about ten of those a day. I share one or two with him on occasion. On sad PMS days, I have about forty and share ten. He says it's easier than dealing with me threatening to behead any cat that wakes me up before seven or to light a Walgreens on fire for not having Junior Mints.

Politics has not been good to anyone lately and I've been thinking about it and decided I'm ready for a Chris Christie presidency-run. I mean, at least someone could finally fill Taft's bathtub. . . Zing! He's essentially the adult version of Eric Cartman. For those of you who don't know:

He might spend the next two years campaigning from the NJ governor's mansion! Do they have a governor's mansion in New Jersey or is it just a pizza place you get to run?

I have a cat-related dilemma. My husband and I agreed to shelter my mom's cat, the beast of the apocalypse, until Thanksgiving, when we'd either roast him and serve him to some first nation peoples at a potluck being held at a local casino per tribal tradition, or give him back to my mom. She continued to maintain, until about the day after we last saw her, that she wanted the cat back. He was the sole survivor of a truck stop incident in which his littermate/sister ran off to start her own software business producing apps for cats called iNip. The phrase "maybe two years ago" was tossed out in a conversation about when he had his most recent shots, and also when my mom casually mentioned that she wouldn't be ready to take him back by Thanksgiving, but that maybe spring would be a more appropriate timeline. Over the weekend it became summer. While my husband and I were lauded as kindly by friends and relatives when we'd agreed to take P.F. Chang to Philly, all of those people turned on us when we said we didn't want the cat for a year because he sucked. Everyone, every single person familiar with the situation said "well yeah, but you should've known she was never going to take responsibility for the cat." I wish nobody had assumed we realized this and just casually mentioned it in August so that we could rethink making the offer. I think it's time to surrender him to the ASPCA. Is that wrong? She says she doesn't want him back and that I could bring him in and pretend he's just a cat I found. Having experienced the shame and guilt associated with surrendering an animal to a shelter, I'd rather bring her the cat and have her do the surrendering. Is that wrong? If I tie him up in front of a Chinese restaurant with a sign around his neck that says "Will Work For Food" is that wrong? Anybody want a cat?

In Truffles news, I had a very long conversation with a stranger at the pet store about dog poop. She's trying out a new food, which should solve most of her stomach issues. The bigger point: I discussed poop on a very serious level for about five minutes with a stranger.