If it weren’t for all this estrogen, I might be a guy.

This monthly hormone spike always makes me a tad more open and empathetic to whatever is happening. I can get more easily frustrated, or sorry for myself, or, even better, ecstatically overjoyed at the smallest things. Take for example this afternoon.

I’m sitting in my living room doing little fix-it projects that involve power tools, a staple gun, a tape measure, and a hammer. I’ve got “Field of Dreams” playing on AMC in the background. The weather has been absolutely perfect all day (hot summer sun with a cool autumn breeze). My dog is attentively by my side. The projects are turning out better than expected. And just as Ray Kinsella has hit a financial crisis with the farm, and is feeling confused and despondent, and is yelling at his daughter, Shoeless Joe Jackson shows up and suddenly all of Ray’s crazy trust in his intuition makes sense. And I’m standing there with an electric drill in one hand, watching a baseball movie, bawling because everything is so right with the world.

I’m really glad no one was around to see me.


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