On cluelessness and being exhausted

Do any of you female readers keep tabs on when your period is supposed to come? Because I end up conveniently forgetting. I'll start feeling it coming on, as I'll look a little bigger and have some cramps going on, but as for which day exactly - I have no idea beforehand. My cycle is totally regular so I can always count the days to predict it all when I actually bother, but I'm just too lazy to really give a crap. All I do is kinda hope that I don't potentially ruin any nice underwear. I kinda miss being on the pill, because my periods just didn't come at all, but I gained a whole bunch of weight and was unhappy a lot of the time, so it totally wasn't worth it. I'll power through these few days of uncomfort rather than give up laughing all together. If any of you silent readers are guys unaware with the specifics of how this shit feels, here's a handy description of what a joy this bodily function is.

The first thing that happened when I came into work yesterday was that Shan told me that Karate Husband had decided for Friday to in fact not be a regular day, but instead like a weekend day, leading my work hours to once again not start at comfortable 4 p.m., but rather 11 a.m. or 1 p.m. I wanted to cry. Literally. Like break down in the store and bawl my eyes out, but I kept it together. After last night, I would've already worked forty hours in one week with still one day to go. Total exhaustion. Anywho, Mafune stepped up to the plate and allowed me to stay at home until 4 p.m., as long as things don't go to absolute shit in the meantime. I'm really grateful, and my bitterness about last weekend subsided pretty much instantly. Six hours is so much better than nine or eleven. There's just no comparing it. I mean, technically yeah, comparing it means anywhere from three to five hours less at work, but in terms of relief, they're worlds apart. Should work really feel like that? Should I really feel like that? Like just five more hours would be the difference between potential life and death?

Next week won't be much better, seeing as that too will be a six day work week with two nine hour days. All in all 42 hours, after this week's 46, and only the Sunday to rest before a new fun week of work (albeit that's just going back to my regular 30 hours per week, so at least I won't want to shoot myself). How did all of this happen? If they won't give me that week off that I've asked for after my birthday, I don't know what the hell I'll do. Curl up in my money pit and sob, I guess, but money isn't the important part when I'm feeling as exhausted as I am.

Ah well. I guess things could be worse. It's a passing thing. Soon I won't even have to work as a waitress anymore. Even if the future is unsure and things are complicated, I still have faith that things will work out in one way or another. If they're meant to be, they'll happen. Until then, why not just try to enjoy the ride?