Bubbling Thoughts: Things I think about on Sundays

Theres no real theme to this one – just  some bubbling thoughts lately. The kind that surface when you’re driving, listing to a podcast and drinking a ton of water. Maybe it’s the age, maybe it’s the season, or maybe it’s just one of those weeks where the brain decides to overanalyze everything at once.

I was journaling this on a Sunday—fitting, since that’s kind of the rule around here: there’s no crying on Sundays.

I was also driving today, which is honestly when most of my best (and weirdest) thoughts come to me.

Anyway, menopause is absolutely kicking my ass lately. Why don’t they tell you half of what actually happens when you hit a certain age? Or maybe they do, and no one bothered to tell me.

I didn’t get “the talk.” Not about this part, anyway. No one sat me down to say, “Hey, one day you’ll cry over commercials, sleep like you’re on night shift, and wake up feeling like a busted can of biscuits.” Nope. Had to figure that out all on my own.

One minute I’m fine, the next I’m sad for no reason. One night I sleep great, then for the next five, I’m awake every hour.

The skin? Dry. The hair? Falling out. The emotions? Everywhere. The metabolism? Missing—if found, please return immediately.

There are also a whole slew of other thoughts I’ll just keep to myself—private things about menopause that no one really wants to hear about anyway.

Oh, and the supplements, prescriptions, aches, and random pains? The list goes on and on. Honestly, I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

And speaking of skin—why am I 51 and still breaking out like a 15-year-old boy?

Shouldn’t there be some kind of expiration date on acne by now? Like, congratulations, you’ve survived puberty and raised kids, you’ve officially earned clear skin for life. Apparently not.

It’s a constant cycle of lose five pounds, gain five pounds, repeat. Blah blah blah.

And the weirdest part? Everyone always talks about hot flashes, but I’m over here freezing all the time. Like, blanket-in-August cold. How is that even fair?

At this point, I’m honestly wondering: would I rather have my monthly period back, or keep enduring years of this menopause circus?

Tough call—but at least chocolate cravings felt more manageable than crying because my socks didn’t match.

So, I’ll call it what it is—a Sunday full of thoughts, laughter, and maybe a few eye rolls.

But definitely no crying. Not today. Not on a Sunday.