Wow. I am exhausted. I was thinking of all the things that have happened to me in a mere two weeks.

1) I have put a more resolved effort into therapy and myself, which can be stressing. I have accepted that some things may hurt, that I need help in dealing with those hurts, and that if I don't slow down and take the time that is necessary to accept and reconcile my past, then I'll hurt myself; 2) Part of that was to begin medication to relieve my anxiety and depression, allowing me to become more focused on myself and my goals. One of which was to get a new job; 3) My new job. I've changed offices, co-workers, and career potential. I work with real people in everyday life who need me to help them become a strong family unit. I already have two cases and I haven't yet been there a full week. My training isn't even complete; and 4) I decided to stop taking birth control pills after nine years. All of this in a two-week period equals exhaustion. I am tired! My body is adjusting to all these different changes, my mind is trying to follow suit, and the cosmic balance is wobbly!

I'm slightly perturbed that I haven't gotten my period yet and I've been off the pill for a full week and four days. It seems I should have gotten it by now. Granted, I stopped after only two weeks in the cycle, before which I had decided to have a period (remember, I was taking my pills continuously. I decided to have a period by simply not taking the pills for seven days). I'm wondering if I should buy a pregnancy test just to make sure. Jon and I still use condoms regularly, but there is always that one time that can get you. Naturally, however, just as I write this, I can feel a little twinge of a cramp in my abdomen. Phantom pains? Should I do some sort of witch dance?

Sometimes, I wish I worshipped my body and the natural cycle it goes through. I wish I had some sort of fiery ritual that blesses my blood, my ovaries, my hormones. I wish I could look at the sky and know when it will come just by the motion of the moon. I want something to speak to me about my body just so I can feel that kind of connection with the earth. If only I were born into a tribe! Because, then, you see--and I'm getting to the point of why I feel so tribal--because, then, you see, I'd have the foresight to bring some freakin' tampons to work! That's right. The unprepared Ellie-nator strikes again.

When I spent a summer in Germany two years ago, I was waiting for the bus to bring me to die Schule and noticed a woman dressed in a lovely, short-skirted, chocolate-brown suit. Then when I looked down by her thighs, sure enough, a massive river of blood was gripping her leg. This has never happened to me. When I get my period unexpectedly (well, when I did get my period), my underwear always prevented a torrential flood. It was never a gush.

Am I grossing you out yet?

I felt terrible for her of course. Knowing a woman is having her period is a strange thing. We walk around every day passing women who are feeling cramps, have headaches or back aches, gained eight pounds in three hours, or who are near tears, want to sleep, are craving chocolate. We pass women with whom we share an amazing natural cycle and we just pass them by without a nod, a wink, a look. We are hesitant to offer solace or a tampon, and yet when we finally too, it's as if we've shared something in a dark place in the woods and nobody will ever know except us. Something unspeakable and unexplainable, but more real than using a strange woman's hairbrush. It feels ritual to me, like there's more behind it. More 'there.' Something awake. I love that about being a woman, but see it only as a potential and not as a reality. I wonder if I'd be embarrassed when faced with the reality.

When I was twelve, I had a "flour party" with a close friend. Ever had a flour party? I wrote a poem about it actually. I'll post it when I find it. We got naked. Completely naked. We put flour all over our bodies and lipstick on our breasts and bellies. We looked at each other. We were already wearing training bras, though I couldn't see the point. I didn't have my period yet, but it was definitely on my mind. I had no pubic hair just yet either. All these things, I wanted. I had french kissed girls. I had even kissed them down there and they me. Sexual games I played when I was younger either because "all kids do" or I was sexually abused by two teenage girls four years earlier and found something intriguing about it. Either way, I never did with her. We were just fascinated by... us! We each took turns jumping backward on my bed then spreading our legs so the other could see our vagina. It was still dark and not covered in a while flour like the rest of us. Her flour was more prominent because she had dark skin. But my lipstick was a bright red, like a kiss, covering my navel. We felt beautiful and womanly, but the quick jumps and open-and-close snapping of our legs gave away our true ages, the slightly embarrassed feel that we didn't know exactly what we were. We danced in front of my mother, our crusted bodies getting sticky. My mother laughed and told us to take a shower. In the shower, the flour turned to dough and we were just like that. Bread waiting to rise, to be put in the oven, become baked, and then... eaten. Eaten by men, by society, by the world. By nature. The world swallows our blood and becomes nourished. In that way, we are tribal. Now, it falls into a wad of cotton and dies in the sewers of our cities. We are separated from what made us. And in that way, I want to be tribal again. Tribal like our long ago ancestors who didn't know how to write, but they knew their bodies, the subtleties. They did wild naked dances.

Don't you ever feel that you missed out on something extraordinary?