So this one time, in Wal-Mart… ha.
I was at Wal-Mart with a childhood girl friend. We must have been 16 because I’m pretty sure we drove ourselves and we had our youngest sisters (then around 8 years old) with us. We were mostly walking around at talking. There were boys we liked who worked at Wal-Mart, so, you know. Eventually, like the GREAT older sisters we were, we noticed that our little sisters had disappeared. We walked the store (which didn’t take but a hot minute because this was pre-super Wal-Mart era) and when we didn’t find them the real panic of what our mothers were going to do to us set in. We had them called on the intercom and when that didn’t work we decided to check the bathrooms– hello. Of course that is where we found them… one of them with her hand stuck up a tampon dispenser, the other holding an open and torn apart tampon they had already managed to rip from the machine. They had thought that the tampon machine dispensed some kind of candy, and since they didn’t have any money, naturally they had to stick their hand inside. They were hugely disappointed and even more curious about what they found.
My friend and I were thoroughly embarrassed and didn’t set foot back in that Wal-Mart… for like a week.

Seriously.
I had bad dreams about someone last night that were purely hormone induced. Bad as in actually bad, fully of worry, hurt, and frustration. Not bad as in baaaaad.

This morning I was doing some reading, and Romans 7:15 says, ” I don’t understand what I do. I don’t do what I want to do. Instead, I do what I hate to do. “

He get’s it. I mean I know this can be applied to all people, and clearly St. Paul was a man, but he gets PMS brain, and I felt a little comforted by it. Sometimes it really does feel like the hormone party wont stop. It’s my habit to over think things as it is, to worry them out to every possible outcome and try to predict which is most likely and prepare myself. The hormone party turns thinking into pure and unadulterated worry.

In spite of my best efforts to think rationally, to trust God, and to believe I am worth more than my internal fast forward button wants to allude to. I still feel so danged upset about things sometimes and it’s really annoying.

If you’re a younger girl and you’re reading this, I’m sorry if this is also your reality. I wish I could tell you that it gets better with age, but the truth it just might not. Chin up, though. The sun sets on bad days just as quickly as it does on good ones.

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