Serial Killer Sympathy

It was a very PMS Christmas. No one was dismembered or visibly maimed, and at least half of you know what a miraculous feat that is, having yourselves survived PMS each and every month. Combine Christmas week with PMS week, and DANG! I should be getting more attention for exhibiting such restraint. Forget the crying Mary statues, and Velveeta Mary sandwiches, and the Mary-appeared-in-the-bird-dung-on-my-windshield pilgrimages, those hordes of faithful Catholics should be lining up outside my door waiting to glimpse the miracle I am for not having killed anyone...again.Some of you have no idea what it is like to live through PMS. And no, living BESIDE someone who has it doesn't count. Sorry fella. But until you have experienced the alien who takes over your body, puffs it up, demands candy and french fries on a moments notice, ignites a bonfire of rage in your chest because some inconsiderate slime had the audacity to TURN THE RADIO ON (or INHALE, or BLINK, or SIT IN THE WRONG CHAIR), plants light-activated atomic missiles in your pupils, and replaces your tongue with a carbon steel razor, do not tell us you have "lived with" PMS. Oh no.When you have repeatedly, month after month after month after year, resisted the urge, demand, imperative need to annihilate all those who may breathe in your presence, and not only resisted but were actually able to retain a semblance of normalcy, all the while swallowing the blood caused by the razor sharp tongue being held in your mouth, and tamping down, with perhaps minor (minor= no one died) escapeages of the roiling molten anger and need for revenge on the world, then and only then will you understand.And that's why I have serial killer sympathy. Every month I come THIS CLOSE to being one of them.