It’s a rare thing for me. Sleep and I spend a lot of time together, usually. We enjoy each other’s company.

I’m awake because my body is telling me it is alternately in the tropics and then in the freezer. I shiver, pull the covers over, sweat, shiver, sweat.

It is, of course, my fault. Today at breakfast I bragged about how menopause had seemingly passed me by without too much trouble. I denied hot flashes, talked about how I have only had one, and how my hormones seem to be taking it easy on me. I actually commented about how it was important to just ignore it and move on.

Once again, hubris, and the subsequent punishment. I could just scream at how quickly the gods note when I feel even vaguely superior to anything and then pound me into the dust.

Anyone would think they were trying to teach me a lesson.

It’s like when I used to go roller skating. I would finally get my sea legs in the large roller skating rinks I actually grew up with (yes, I am that old – the skates even had FOUR WHEELS! EACH!!). I’d stagger around the rink, limping for time after time, trying to control my uncoordinated body, and then I’d get it. My body would cooperate, and I’d have five glorious seconds of sailing along, graceful at last. I’d just start to think about how beautiful I must look. Poetry in motion, I’d think. Just before I smashed into THE MOST DESIRABLE boy in the 8th grade, knocking him into the prettiest girl and both of them and me into the boards.

Even the mirror ball and pounding music couldn’t save me.

Biking, the same. Finally got to the point where I could bike with grace and charm, but if I ever let that thought enter my head, I could guarantee I’d hit a rock, shuffle sideways, fling myself onto the ground.

It’s not like I am a proud person. I wouldn’t say I was exactly humble, and maybe that’s what gets the gods annoyed, but, goshdarnit – can’t I maintain some modicum of self-respect?

Apparently not. So here I sit, at 4 AM, researching why my parrotlet has suddenly taken to pulling out her chest feathers (hormones could be to blame there, too), and alternately wrapping and unwrapping myself while I listen to international news about disasters happening everywhere.

Again with the lessons. Even at this hour I am reminded that my little problems are so small given what others are coping with. I give up. I’m off to bed, having found some yummy bird food recipes, and isolated why she may be freaking out. But only “may”. Gods forbid I might feel competent!

All I can say is it’s a darn good thing those gods aren’t hanging about nearby. Because there’s one aspect of this menopause thing I have down pat. I can mood swing wilder than anyone I’ve met.  It’s like my body is pushing me on the swings. Poetry in motion. Really.