PMS + writer = minor catastrophe (because you don’t simply go through the “noooobody loves me!!!” period, no, you also have to deal with “noooobody loves my books!!!”)
PMS + writer + PhD thesis = major catastrophe (add “my theeeeeeesis sucks!!!” to “noooooobody loves me” and “nooooobody loves my books!!!”)
By now, I’ve eaten a box of Australian Homemade chocolates (oh, which reminds me, add “I’m faaaaaat!!!” to the list), have successfully managed to ruin my nails, have let the milk boil over and produce mess in the kitchen (see? see? nobody loves me, not even the milk!), and have managed to convince myself that I’ll never find another book I’ll enjoy ever again (I’m going through a bit of a reading crisis right now). (Not to speak of “noooooobody loves me!!! nooooobody loves my books!!! my theeeesis sucks!!!”, of course.)
PMS stinks. Where’s the chocolate?