“Oh, oh… Shit!” I was suddenly wide awake, didn’t know what time it was, didn’t care. I was, first thing I noticed, in a “compromising” sleeping position which was facing up, legs akimbo. The “sanitary” pad I used simply was not enough for that kind of wanton nocturnal indulgence. So it was the bit of wetness I felt underneath my bullocks that had woken me up. I had no time to be exasperated. Mentally preparing myself for the imminent departure from the warmth of the bed, the doubtlessly spreading pool of blood underneath me had me up in 3 seconds flat after the awakening. “It happened AGAIN!” I was NOT going for quietness or stealthiness or any finesse like that. Fuck that. Why do I have to endure this bullshit alone? The light came on as I accessed the damage to the bed cover. Not too bad, or rather, I had seen worse. Didn’t even need to wash immediately, unlike several other times when this exact thing had happened. I was glad at least of that. I was NEVER in the mood of swapping bedsheets in the middle of the freaking night. Then it occurred to me, “I REALLY hate this!!!” but no time to lose, I wanted to go back to bed, a tainted one but nevertheless. Yeh, the panty I’m wearing will need to be rinsed, well, tomorrow. For now, as I was squatting, angrily, I waited for the washing bowl to be filled up with water. Patience. First, I washed my ass. Then put on a new panty. “Where’s the pad?” Oh, good, I remembered to leave a couple out right by the toilet. Carefully positioned the “sanitary” pad for maximum coverage. Ahhhh, that felt every bit as good as I imagined. “I feel CLEEEEAAANNN again, god!”. Not finished just yet. Rid of the murky water, got some fresh water, put soiled panty into the bowl. “Almost, almost…” Dragged myself towards the rapidly cooling bed, blacking out the stain on the bed, making sure I’m in a period-secure sleeping position, savoring for a second the fresh panty of my labor and falling back to sleep. I didn’t wash the panty for 2 days. It could wait.

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Rant alert:

Does the “tragedy of the commons” apply to women? I think so. It comes down to the notion that whether women are, well, commodity or not. Commodity is something one can possess. Women certainly fit that description in a commercial world that is arguably ruled by men. The “tragedy of the commons” argues that the masses are incentivized to over-use the commodities that belong to the public without oversight. In today’s environment, where there are man-made crisis each and every day, that problem exacerbates. Women are not commodities, as much as the commercial world would want you to believe. Women are people, full of life, compassion and potential. Their value does not lie in childbirth, but in simply being part of the society. The media would have you believe that a few powerful men run the world, but those men are supported by their mothers, their wives, their sisters, their daughters. Without women’s participation, a community tends to trend towards violence, isolation and absurdities. While it’s hard to find a wiseman, every woman has to grow wise, for the sake of others and herself. It is infinitely more powerful when women band together. It does seem to me, a lot of societies frown upon camaraderie-building among women, while promoting regular get-togethers among men. “They are talking about us, aren’t they?” “They will give each other ideas.” Is that a secret wish? Men think they prefer prim, other-worldly women, that is until these men find these women boring or naive after the novelty wears off. To counter balance, women already start to take possession of themselves. No matter how old or young you are, it’s a woman’s job to be your own woman, your own person, and treat other women like people too, not just a mother, an employee, a waitress. There’s no competition, other than the ones that the society has imposed on us. Women are not goods, their purpose is not to serve. Use the fair advantage.