On Hormone Drop Days

IN A NUTSHELL — PARAGRAPH

On Hormone Drop Days, my whole system misfires — the thermostat breaks, the veil falls, and suddenly everything is too loud, too bright, too pointless. I push myself through the boiling‑blood hours, wrestling with guilt, impulse, fog, and the strange menopausal logic that sends me wandering through shops I don’t even shop in. Joy flattens, decisions warp, and the world feels like a test I didn’t revise for. This is the drop: the slipping, the drowning, the pushing through, the returning.

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