This is a record-breaking four-week visit! You’ve never stayed this long before. At first I was really glad you came because it had been so long (47 days to be exact) since you came around again, but now you are way overstaying your welcome.
I guess I shouldn’t complain. You’ve been a punctual friend over the years, visiting when you’re expected, leaving promptly after four to five days. I’d come to rely on you and enjoy your visits. If you’re being a bit erratic lately, not showing up on time or staying way too long, it’s probably because we’re getting closer to saying goodbye to each other and it’s tough. For both of us.
I get more than a little bit emotional about you going away for good. I’m struck with fear and sadness at the thought of growing old and dying. Mentally I want to clutch tightly at your legs and beg you not to go. Don’t leave me. Please. In reality I’m annoyed at the inconvenience that has dragged on this long. I mean, I still manage to have a sex life, but you hold me back from giving it my all. Worries about staining sheets, partners’ reactions to blood… you know how it goes.
I’m trying not to flip out about your prolonged stay. I’ve googled it. Apparently it’s normal for this stage. I’m not going to drug myself or get a hysterectomy.
I’m going to love you. I’m going to cherish your visits. And I don’t care how long you go away in between, I’ll be happy to see you whenever you come around. I’ll treat you like it may be the last time I’ll ever see you.
I love you, you dirty bitch!
P.S. Here’s a haiku for you.
Signing my book, Lilith: Queen of the Demons, in blood inspired me to play with my blood again. Because I haven’t been for a while now. I’ve been doing the normal thing, dumping it in the loo, washing my cup out, putting it back in. Neat and clean, because I have so much to do that matters more. The sooner I’m done with this, the better.
Except this really matters to me, more so now that I feel my reproductive cycles waning. I don’t know how many more periods I will have in my life. I do know that it will eventually end, and it makes me more than a little bit sad.
My past two cycles have been longer than usual. I miss Aunt Flo terribly when she’s late.
So I’m writing. I’ve got a set of dip pens and when I have enough blood collected in my cup I dip one of them in and write. It makes me feel witchy and primordial. Like Lilith.
I pulled an overflowing menstrual cup out and spilled a gush of blood at my feet. It’s heavier than usual, and I’m quick to blame the supermoon, the closest the moon has been in my lifetime.
I had my dip pen ready, and a scrap of paper to practice writing on. I received a request to sign a Lilith: Queen of the Demons paperback in menstrual blood. It’s a brilliant idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
My blood was surprisingly watery. I worried that it wouldn’t be dark enough to sufficiently make a mark. It looked thick and clotty at the bottom of the cup so I poured a bit of it out, but it yielded the same consistency on the page.
I decided to trust it. My blood has never let me down. It showed up whenever I painted on paper or on my skin. I held the page open with a paperweight till it dried a darker red. Now I have a Lilith: Queen of the Demons book signed in supermoon blood going out in the mail tomorrow.
I joke about having possibly made a horcrux out of a Lilith: Queen of the Demons book signed with supermoon blood, but to be honest, I feel a deep loss from having to let go off such an intimate part of me. This book is now more magical than ever. Cherish it well, you who will receive it. Part of the moon and me will be in it always.