Letter to My Body - Sort Of

On Valentine's Day, I kicked off BlogHer's Letter to My Body initiative. The Town Crier kicked off Phase II to the project with a wonderful perspective on infertility. As I've mentioned before, I have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), which would make it difficult for me to get knocked up if I should ever lose my remaining shreds of sanity and decide that I want to have a baby. Clearly, the infertility problem doesn't keep me up at night. The delightful other symptoms of PCOS are another story.

While reading other women's letters over the past two weeks, I nearly bust a gut laughing when One Fat Momma wrote:

I know I complain about getting zits and blackheads even though you are pushing 30, but secretly? I like picking at them, so it’s not such a hardship. I’m probably jinxing myself by saying this, but sometimes I like to live dangerously.

Because seriously? That's how I feel about my chin hairs. Damn, I hate them, but they sure are fun to pick at. When I have insomnia, de-bearding myself makes for an excellent way to pass time. There's something oddly cathartic about plucking hairs. It's certainly better than my nervous habit of peeling away all the flesh on my cuticles.

Still, when I notice the coarse black hairs on my chinny chin chin, it is upsetting. The extra androgens that cause them - and my slightly-elevated-level of insulin - are not cool. They fuck with my moods pretty badly. I would very much like it if these competing hormones would go away, but I guess this is the one body I got, so I'll deal with it. Plus, there's the added incentive that body snatching aliens probably aren't into bearded chicks, so I got that going for me.

Anyway, 'twas a long day, which explains my late post. I taught my last budgeting class at the local university in the morning, then ran around like an idiot in the afternoon. I also gave in to my curiosity and had my Tarot cards read. It was very interesting, and the cards said lots of nice things. I don't know how much I really believe these things, but it made me feel less anxious. The occult is a fantastic deal for therapy. Long live witches!