Ovulation is funny to me. The body takes roughly a week to send out scents to attract the best man to reproduce the most effectively. The brain jumps on board and does a mental calculation of every potentially available man it has ever met. It also sends out hormones and emotions that make the body feel really good and healthy and well, as well as the desire to stop off all clothes, be cuddled lovingly, and romp in the sack for hours on end, days on end. Life feels, somehow, entirely possible, and love feels imminent. And even a touch from a handsome man makes everything turn alight with flame. And sleeping is difficult, and dreams are annoying, and waking up is hard, both for the end of the dream to find oneself alone and for the battle the brain undergoes trying to wake up but trying to satisfy the body’s desires. And being around men is difficult, and being near-constantly and easily aroused feels absurd and annoying. It is a week in which one must be careful not to grow too weak in one’s resolve, as one’s mind seems to seek out any and all possibilities for, first, interacting with a man and, second, copulating with him. It is probably the week that most women reach out to men they like, even a little. It is likely the week with the most sex in a woman’s life. It is certainly the week made for sex in a woman’s life… It is a week of constantly having to chill the f*** down in the loins and head, and aim to remember who one really is, aside from a means of continuing the species. It is a week where loyalty seems irrelevant, and every man sounds like a great option; even several at once sounds, absurdly, entirely reasonable and desirable.
All of that is, simply, because we were made that way. Just a bit bizarre, I think…
What a week…
Post-a-day 2021
hannah ananas 