Day three of the migraine that could. I’m left unable. God bless Phenergan. God bless loose-knit IKEA blankets and candles that smell like gingerbread and cost four bucks. God bless…God bless socks. It’s nippy in here.
I keep trying to write. I’m afraid I’ll be taking it out on my blog, my poor, ignored, blank little blog, dormant for months at a time. Just to be sure you know I’m equal opportunity, I haven’t touched my diary in a couple months, either. (There, there, blog, feel better.)
I almost hope this headache continues so I will have enough motivation to actually drag my poor university-attending debt-addled ass in to the doctor’s and get something that will make this happen again NEVER. As it is, I don’t really like the idea of a copay. But another day of this? It’s worth three copays to stop that from happening.
Two reasons:
Migraines are absolutely miserable. Know that. If you don’t get them, count all your lucky stars, though it’s easier for a migraine sufferer because I swear it, you can see them, everywhere, all the time. They are different for everyone, but for me, I get nauseous like I’ve been spinning for hours and it feels both like someone is trying to remove part of my brain with a fork while clamping my head in a vice. This is generally agitated by noise, smells, lights, and motion. Also possibly agitated by simply being awake and fully conscious, though dreaming is no trip. Last night, I very seriously dreamt my friends hated me, one to the extent where she was trying to find me and kill me, and also that I was in a barber shop where they had monkeys performing for us and I devastated a young Hitler (who enjoyed playing with the monkeys) by informing him that some day, he’ll orchestrate the deaths of millions of people. He cried. I sincerely hope young Hitler would have actually done so.
Also it’s Halloween weekend and my friend’s birthday tomorrow night and I’ve got a great costume and I’m supposed to have fun, damn it, before my entire life is spent researching for my thesis and writing a paper on Mormonism that I’ll enjoy writing more than perhaps I should. History is awesome.
By the way, I’ll be Lucille Bluth, carrying a martini glass and cursing everyone I see, screaming for Lupe whenever I encounter untidiness and signing everyone up for the Army.
