Strange Things

So, not much has happened with the estrogen. I mean, I had a really strange dream last night. Super strange. I dreamt that me and Keith were living in Grandma's old trailer across from the bar. Married, of course. And things are going good, although I'm not sure why we lived there, until one day something weird happens. I come home from work and go into the bedroom that used to be Grandma's computer room. Well, in my dream it was actually a bedroom. (And these next few parts are why you shouldn't take too much melatonin.) Well, I walk in there and there's Keith right in the middle of a gay buttsex orgy. I'm talking like 6 guys just going at it. And he was all like "SHUT THE DOOR!" And I was all like "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!" So I go into the living room and as I sit, I become more and more pissed off about it. (I think the pissed-off-ness was from the estrogen.) So somehow all of the other guys are gone and Keith comes out and I'm just screaming bloody murder at him. Just at the top of my lungs like I'm a crazy woman. I'm sure that dream Keith could literally feel the waves of anger flowing off of dream Me. And for some reason, his phone keeps going off and he keeps getting calls. And it's from the same person. So I just leave him alone and do some cleaning. Well, I find this receipt that has a bunch of stuff on there that Keith had bought. Thing was, I didn't ever see any of those things. Mostly small pieces of furniture, jewelry, and just girly stuff. Like $400 worth of stuff. So I start screaming again because I'm certain that he's having an affair. Lo and behold, he was. And all of those phone calls and texts were from the dumb bitch he's seeing. Who was he seeing behind my back? Taylor Swift, of all people. So I snatch his phone and run out the door trying to call her. Well he comes out carrying a pool stick and chases me across the street through the bar parking lot trying to beat me with the pool stick. And of course I'm still screeching and just being all around angry.

At this point, I wake up. It's like 5:45 in the morning. And I know it was just a dream, but I was still so irrationally angry. Like, Incredible Hulk proportions. I laid there in bed for about ten minutes trying to gain control of my emotions. I mean, it was a dream for crying out loud. I know Keith would never do any of those things, ever. But it felt so real because of the melatonin, and the emotions caused by all of that estrogen. I'm tellin ya, those two are not the greatest combination. So after I got ahold of myself, I went out in the living room where Keith had fallen asleep and asked him to come comfort me in bed because I had a bad dream about him. So he crawled into bed and I told him about it and we laughed for a while. It was just so weird. I wonder what's in store for tonight? Anyways, other than the angry dream, I haven't felt any different on estrogen besides actually being able to become aroused easier. But that's a good thing. I haven't really shown a big interest in sex lately. So it's helping things.

I'm not fat. I know for a fact that I'm not. I'm at a very healthy weight right now. But seriously? I hate that it took so long for me to grow boobs and hips and butt. It's like, all through high school and my teen years they were mysteriously absent. Which sucks, because so many more people, myself included, could have appreciated them. Not in like a sexual way, but in a "Whoa, check out that sexy figure" way. But noooo. They had to wait until I turned 20. Once I hit 20 my figure was like "Hey, I'm here! I'm late, but I made it!" Which sucks because I'd spent the last two and a half years carefully picking out nice clothes from Ross or sales racks so that I could look decent and not have to wear hand me downs. That's a lot of time trying to cultivate a cute, stylish wardrobe. I know that you must be thinking of what a shallow whore I am, but I'm truly not. I just spent most of my life wearing clothes that other people have worn forever before they were given to me. Not that hand me downs are a bad thing. Some of my favorite clothes have been hand me downs. It's just that by the time I got a lot of that stuff, it was already out of style, or stretched out slightly, or faded, or not quite the right size for me. And even though most kids probably didn't care about what I was wearing, I felt like they did. But that's high school for ya.

Anyways, boobs. They won't go away. I've lost like 15 pounds since May and they're still the same exact size they were then. I can't say that I mind the boobs so much. I actually kind of like them. It's the hips that are killin me. Do you even realize how many pairs of jeans I own? At least 15. Do you know how many I can actually fit into? Probably just 5. I really, REALLY want to be able to wear some of those old jeans. They would mostly make great work pants since they're not all full of holes or torn up. They're just too damn small. Fuck you, hips. Fuck you, butt. But not really, please don't eff the butt. I'm not into that. It's just a figure of speech.

Well, I'm off to try and get some sleep. Also, going to try to avoid melatonin tonight.