Imagine the circumstance: a specific week rolls in once monthly and all of a sudden, you feel stupid. Hugely idiotic. Like you’ve been watching too many housewives throw champagne at each other and can’t see past the stained silk blouses. There is a bright side though, and that is the satisfaction that comes with finally realizing that you are not dumbing down. Your brain — the matter upon which your opinions and therefore identity are founded — is simply in a temporary (keyword, people) prison cell being run by your ovaries. I don’t know why it happens, but does it matter?
I ask you to consider this hypothetical conversation:
Ginghoolia: Amapicca! What’s up? I haven’t seen you in weeks. Have you finished that dissertation on the molecular biology of a frog’s neck?
Amapicca: Whfdsaufb, fyhfhjssfh — fhdsjh fhsja fyrnvcajhgeuy.
Ginghoolia: You must have a case of period brain. I get it. I’ve been there.