I happen to have the extreme luck of being a ciswoman who loves her period. Well, that’s not right, but I do love blood and getting it with no effort.

Now my poor houseplants have been ailing. I live in an apartment with nice wide windowsills that get lots of sun, but also are drafty as hell. I’ve moved them back out of the draft, but that means they’re sitting on the floor. They still get sun so it’s the best solution. All I want is for them to survive until spring! A few weeks ago I had a huge duh moment reading about women who use their own blood to feed their plants. Naturally I was reading these stories they day my period had ended so I eagerly awaited this month. Having a Diva cup is awesome.

After my shower this morning, I ran to get dressed in my best dress, arming myself with a bee brooch on each breast (milk and honey puns), beetle earrings, and my most yonic flower necklace. It’s actually my most yonic necklace ever. It was a gift from B’s grandmother via B, since she had this idea I didn’t have nice jewelry so she gave him something to give to me. I unwrapped it and there was no stopping the WOW that escaped me upon seeing it. It’s a golden narcissus with a pearl in its bitty trumpet. It’s a golden cunt.

Anyway, so here I am, the lady of spring in the wrong month crooning and chanting these plants shall be fed / with this blood I shed and variations thereof (not bad for improvisation) and hoping B doesn’t come home because while we agreed I could do this he did explicitly spell out he didn’t want to see me toting around a giant wine bottle of diluted blood. He only really has hangups about blood and heights, and since he puts up with my shit constantly I should respect that.

Anyway, I have a new monthly ritual. Next month I’ll be able to tell if really I sync up to he dark moon or not.