When they say "riding the crimson wave" I have to laugh. It reminds me of the wakes in water after a boat has gone by. Gently pushing you where you need to go.
For me the metaphor means something quite more grandiose. Gigantic breaking waves, breaking me.
I will not be one of the masses who thinks her flow is a curse. It's absence has been too pervasive to my being. I need it to cleanse me. I need it to prove that I still function as a maiden or mother.
But the great "Aunt Flow", she stays away too long. Then she comes into my home with a great swinging of the door. Crashing into the coat rack. Then carrying her baggage, which is my baggage, she tramples through my home like an elephant knocking everything over and yelling about how she's sorry she's late. She spills the boiling water on the stove. She breaks the lamp with her gigantic purse as she swings around looking for only God knows what. And I'm left standing there, mouth agape. I love her but lord only knows what I can do with her. I try to focus on just being so grateful that she's here with me finally. But she leaves me beaten down, exhausted. She ties me to the earth, she just needs to stop tying me to the tracks.
By the end of her visit I am battered and bruised and for a moment, grateful that it she will likely be late next time too. I need the time to recover. Do you think she'll notice if I spend half of her visit in the tub, with a strong drink and a cold compress on my head? I promise to feign a smile, "Auntie, I'm so glad you're here." And I am, but that smile? It's forced.
