Pre-Menstrual Tantrums

When I write on here, I try to make you smile. It's a heavy burden, but that's the kind of pressure you invite when you go bandying addresses like myfunnymummy.org about. On a weekly basis, I sit and sieve the mental torment from my psyche, play about with it a bit, then present it to you and the other seven people who read this as a few light-hearted gags (whilst snatching clumps out of my scalp in order to vent the debilitating inner turmoil and inescapably burning, clawing, pounding angst I truly feel). 

Tears of a clown and all that.

So as I try to make light of our farcical everyday, The Poop decides, one week in every four, to be 'difficult'. To have a problem with everything I want us to do. To take exception to every piece of clothing, every tickle, every kiss. (She also grumbles about every bowl of charred, tasteless mush my culinaryly challenged hands place in front of her, but that's fair dos.)
Three weeks of the month, she is a pleasure. An easy-going joy. A smiling, good humoured, self assured delight. Yet every fourth week, she becomes so irritable, so stubborn, so feet-draggingly unpleasant, that we get nothing done.

I just don't get it. Is it frustration? Boredom? Does she need more stimulation? Less?
And why does she hate me so routinely?

To top it all off, she schedules these paddies for the very week that I am due to come onto my period. Typical. And she doesn't ever skip a month. Without fail, come my pre-menstrual week, The Poop will be kicking off on all fronts. Which means I'll have nothing to blog about. Having said that, blogging in general is a complete waste of time anyway - no one's reading this. Are you? Well, you say you are, but are you really reading it? See, told you. And this font is crap. I hate the Internet.
*bursts into tears and storms out*