Put Captain Solo in the cargo hold:

It’s about that time again—that magical time of Aleve and chocolate ice cream and crying. Why in the world my period makes me cry so much is beyond me, but I turn into a goddamn Lifetime movie. And every month, I refuse to believe that my period could be the culprit. Everything is going wrong today and now I can’t the lid off this jar and I hate my liiiiiiiiife! And every month, some nice, timid person offers up a helpful, rational explanation, and I am just livid that someone would even suggest such a thing. I take it personally. This has nothing to do with my body! I am having a serious problem here and I cannot believe you would discount my problems for—oh, hey, what’s up, period.

The worst it ever was: I woke and up and cried because someone was already in the shower. I cried in the shower because I was out of conditioner. I cried when I got out just because I’d already cried twice that day and that really got me down. I managed to pull myself together long enough to sit down and relax in front of the TV—The Empire Strikes Back was on—but when they froze Han Solo in carbonite, I was inconsolable.