I do� and I am.

Welcome to my world, my life, my mind. And in all fairness, welcome to another round of one of the worst clich�s I know�. P.M.S. Ain�t it a bitch?

I truly hate to blame all of this on the monthly curse that we, as women face monthly. Once upon a time, I was what I considered to be one of the most �fortunate� women in the world. Sure, I was morbidly obese. And yes, my health was not the greatest after awhile. But damn it all, I had amenorrhea. (A condition some women get, sometimes caused by obesity as mine was that stops women from ovulating- and menstruating) I was fortunate to have one, maybe two, three at the most- periods a year. No cramps, no mood swings, no cravings, no urges to sell my soul to the devil or sacrifice the living� not the case as it were anymore. Unfortunately, after losing the weigh post-op, I now am a much healthier, thinner and for the most part- happier woman. Who now deals with menstrual cycles that arrive right on time like clockwork and bring with it the most torrential storms of emotion that I have been told can be chalked up to one diagnosis. Summed up in those three evil little letters. P.M.S.

Yesterday, I had an extremely amazing day at work. Not once did I get upset about anything. No stress. All fun and care-free conversation. Even when Frank and I got into one of our famous heated debates- we were able to leave the heat turned off. Even I was amazed. But then, this morning I awoke and you�d have sworn I got up not only on the wrong side of the bed, but the side that landed me in the deepest bowels of hell to trek thru the muck and agonies of all that it entails. Right from the get-go today, I was in every sense of the word- feeling quite bitchy. My body is retaining more water than the Great Lakes. And I�m getting cramps where it�s nobody�s business. This is one of those days where being a woman really takes it�s toll on my sanity.

I took Shawn�s head off so many times this morning that I was surprised later in the evening to see him with it attached. Frank and I got into a tiff over something so stupid. I unintentionally intentionally said something dumb which led to his irritation and later more heated discussion that by the near end of the night I was in tears and reeling from it all. I got pissed off at one of the bosses because I was not offered over time due to another Q.C.�s vacation. And then I just got mad as hell at myself for being such a big whiny drama queen for no valid reason at all.

And then tonight, when I got home I made myself a quick bite to eat. Hopped in the shower while it cooled. Sat down and ate it and watched Shall We Dance Since I had set the TiVo to record it off of pay-per-view. By the end of the movie, I was bawling. And contemplating my life, my relationship and all that I feel is lacking and/or missing.

I feel kind of like Richard Gere�s character in the movie. Kind of like I have so much and am blessed in so many ways- and yet, I can�t help but feeling like I could be, should be a little happier. Like I want to step out and do something I want to do but have never taken the time for. Kind of like, no- not kind of but really- like the world is spinning on it�s axis out there. Like everything is as it should be, and yet- here I am. Letting it all pass me by as I sit in waiting. All docile and expecting. Yet never doing anything to reach out and make what I dream to happen, actually happen.

Am I making any sense at all??? Sometimes, I wonder.

But like in the movie, which turned out like the title says to be about dancing. I could relate. I do relate. Since I was a little girl, I have loved dance. I grew up around it. I had so many friends who partook in dance classes. And for those who didn�t, they still found ways to dance. Back in the days of my childhood, Break-dancing was the thing to do. And my Dad, happy to oblige the kids in our area, brought home a ton of refrigerator boxes from work and the guys cut them up into big sheets they put together out in the parking lot to practice their moves on.

But I never danced with them. I danced with my sisters in the privacy of our own home. But never in public. For one, I was never any good. Try as I might, it just never happened for me. I had the rhythm of a hippo with four left feet and no grace. But I to this day still love to go out with friends dancing. I watch them as they shake their money makers like it�s nobody�s business. But very rarely, and never before I�ve consumed enough alcoholic beverages to render me legally dead� do I dance.

Why not? Because big girls weren�t meant for dancing. Someone told me that once. And it became like a Biblical commandment to me.

But now, I long to dance. I have always said and truly believed, that music is like a bubble bath for the soul. No matter what mood you�re in- there is always a song, a beat, a rhythm out there that can lift you up and carry you away into the sweet oblivion of nothingness. Even now, I have an insatiable desire to learn ballroom dancing. To learn the tangos, the waltzes, the cha-cha�s. I long to learn to line dance, to tap and to pirouette into a happier state of mind. To Tootsie Roll and dance �dirty dances� that set any dance floor afire with passion and lust.

And yet, I don�t know that it�s all that possible for me. Because it�s not something I would ever do alone I don�t think. And the mere mention of ballroom dancing lessons make Shawn cringe and I know he will never succumb to my dream of doing so.

So when the movie ended, on a happy note. And it was an awesome movie by the way- I cried. I cried for the movie and it�s upbeat ending. And I cried for me also. For the me who dared to dream and yet lacks the balls to go out and chase down those dreams.

I feel like such a hypocrite. I always encourage others to dream and dream big. Telling them to stop at nothing short of success when it comes to achieving those dreams. And yet, here I sit. Wallowing in self pity for the dreams I have come to cherish and yet have never bothered to make my own reality.

Again I say to you� P.M.S., Ain�t it a bitch?

Thanks for tuning in�

Simply,

Sara