I'm addicted to blogging.

And now I can't even remember what i was going to blog about.

Though it seems lately that most people who I talk to have one question on their minds.
I don't mind this question.
Just why does it have to be asked now and as frequently as they have been asking!
Why can't everyone just leave me alone on the subject?

Oh now I remember. I wanted to blog about

Periods.


Mine to be exact.
Why? because it's natural. Most women do it. It's like pooping. (hahhahahahahahahhehehehehehahahah)
It happens. Whether you want it to or not.
(I don't poop though. I'm a lady.)


But seriously. Periods suck.
Commas rule.
And I hate mine.
I don't get cramps. I just get this scoopy feeling.
It feels like this...

Like scooping ice cream. (I really hope i didn't ruin ice cream for anyone...)
And the night before, I cannot sleep.
Like at all.
And, for those of you that know me might be thinking, "well morgan, you're a night owl regardless. how do you know that this is a sign of you getting your period?"
Well dear readers, it's because normally I'll stay awake until like midnight or one o'clock.
But when i get my period I stay awake until like seven am. j
It's horrible.
And according to people around me I become a bitch.
But that's fucking impossible. Right? (answer wrong and in a few days I'll blow your fucking brains out.)
I'm wonderful all of the time. (:
(just kidding. that was a little extreme.)
And you wanna know what else?
I have my fucking thing on my fucking birthday.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THAT PICTURE?!
the fact that it's MY day. MY FUCKING day.
and i'm going to have my period. I'm going to crave chocolate.
I'm probably going to be crabby.
I'm going to be bloated EVERYWHERE EXCEPT MY BOOBS.
BECAUSE THOSE DON'T GROW. EVER.
What I have is what i get. end of story.
And not only THAT.
But on my birthday i work. Like modeling work (which is awesome. but not at the same time.)
Awesome because I'm working with Derick Cich again. I love him. He's so great.
So excited! :D
Sucky because i'm going to be a fat bloated cow.
And fat bloated cows don't become models.
Here come the mood swings... everyone get ready.
And what the fuggin' fug.
Who the fuck invented bras?
why can't it just be acceptable to just let it all chill out?
You know?
I forgot what i was even mad about.
I'm gonna brush my teeth and go listen to white noise.
and make things up in my mind.