Waiting for Godot

I've never read or seen this play. All I know about it is as follows: it's by Beckett, it's a play, Beckett is famous for writing plays, it has people waiting for someone called Godot who never arrives, there's lots of standing around and talking, and maybe it's a metaphore for waiting for God, or for a point, or something. Anyway, I am waiting for my period. 30 and menstruating since I was 11 so you'd think I'd have my shit together enough to know when my period was actually due. But no. Not on the pill, so don't have that handy bubbble pack to telll me, and don't tend to write it on my calander, sometimes remember based on the moon (but its not as consistent as I might have romantically imagined, my period is not beautifully timed to coincide with the phases of the moon apparently), sometimes recall a significant event that was happening last time so can count forward and guess that way - but often can't recall, and so that leaves just my hormonal register. Sometimes it feels really clear - I get lots of energy to reorganise things / make things and want to have lots of sex in the middle of my cycle, then can feel a little bit baffled and teary and listless a week after, usually forgetting why and wondering what's wrong until, baboom, a few days after that I get a strange once-removed aching feeling in my belly, like gravity is pulling extra hard just in that part of the world, and a kind of grimly determined feeling. Sometimes I feel angry then too, just a wandering general anger. And then I get blood and its a relief because I know that's it's come full cycle, that I'm not pregnant, that everything works, that there is some kind of rythm to life and that the existential crisis that lasted a day was likely triggered by hormones. But on my new years fruit and veg kick I wonder whether having lots of nutrients and important trace elements and what nots might not help in reducing PMT type symptoms (perhaps 'experiences' rather than 'symptoms' is more appropriate - after all is not a disease?), which would be great, but also make it harder for me to guess in advance? And... you might think 'yeah whatever, who cares?', which is fair enough, but I work in an office and I worry that I willl be mid-phone hook up or mid sentence and feel that peculiar slide of first blood and either sit there knowing that by the time I get up at the end of the meeting I may have a small pool like you see in tv murder dramas near someone's bludgeoned head, on my skirt, or that I will have to quickly exit, trying to juggle some strange combo of pelvic floor muscles to stop the next wave, circumspectly pop to my handbag at desk and then dash to the loo. Hey - maybe I can sign up for one of those nag email services (see Betty Sue's post on NY reminders) and get an e-update on the status of my mennstrual cycle. Handy!