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Feeling Down, Being Down
Of two downs, this is a tale. Feeling down. Being down. It’s the 21st century; I hope using the word, down, or period, isn’t offensive. It’s not offensive when blood from the same body creates life. And, neither should feeling down be considered anything more than a human need expressed in reality.
Tsunami of a big city’s seductiveness appropriates the less strong. And the yin-yang of human sensibilities get thrown around like bloated rubber advertisements. Appropriateness, is it a big city problem? Small suburban hideouts, and tiny rural cutaways, immune to the pulls of dog eat dog puppetry? Folks feel down, very down in the hustle and bustle of lights. Lights are bright and dancing. Hearts and bodies can be lonely, and quiet.
Then there were those who vilified the young woman for running the London marathon on the first day of her period. Twenty-six point two miles with the natural narrative of a body feminine dripping in courage and acceptance. I smile and sigh as the aching, bloating, grumpy forgotten period of my yesteryears runs along old chambers of my memory logs.
Normally, I would rather keep the tell-tale signs private, yet, making a point is what the young woman did. Whether you like it or not, she left behind the female body’s raw legacy. This portends freedom, of a kind. Ending of the period, is another kind. Please, don’t make a big…
