baby migraines and starfish arms

A scrap of something I wrote the other morning.

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03/18/2006

It’s the edge of a migraine this morning
a rusty scimitar, a dirty crescent moon
stuck on the right rear quadrant of my skull
the kind that makes me debate whether to blow an Imitrex on this one
knowing it’ll be gone for sure
or take my chances with OTC stuff that sometimes works
and sometimes leaves the pain untouched, leaves it to grow
like a few bad cells still hanging on
the starfish arm that could grow a brand new misery
whole, entire
wrapping its arms around my head, over one eye
it waits like a promise

it kinda snuck up on me

I’ve been losing weight slowly, since I started taking this one medication that’s supposed to help reduce the frequency of my migraines (when I say the phrase, “frequency of migraines,” I picture them like blips on a radar, waves on an endless strip of paper). Weight loss is one of the side effects, and I didn’t even seriously consider that it would actually happen. I started taking it in November, and didn’t notice the weight loss, even after people started insisting that I was, not until I tried on some old pants, then went to the store and tried on some new pants. It’s not a ton, maybe ten or so pounds, give or take.

hush

I’ve been trying to work-at-home this afternoon, had a group today and just trying to finish up my day, having a hard time, just wanting to do stuff by myself. Paint my nails, go get coffee. I even feel like grocery shopping, if you can believe it. My husband is gone for the weekend and there was a time that it would just kill me. There was a time that it would also just kill me to imagine a time that it wouldn’t kill me wo spend a weekend without him. I had to get married to be comfortable alone.

I slept in this morning trying to shake a migraine, and the pills I take for them make me all sleepy, so by the time I rolled out of bed I was all late. And B came waltzing into the room with a plate of eggs and some coffee, and I gulped and slurped, and I took a R_grace-is-late-shower (wash/condition hair, wash face, wash pits, that’s it), and was about to run out the door, and poor Ben is standing in the middle of the dining room saying, “Wait…” and he engulfs me in the slowest, softest, sweetest, mmmmm… I’m so fucking LATE.. and he says, “WAIT!” And I’m like, “I CAN’t…” and then I remember, he’s flying out this afternoon, he’s going to his cousin’s wedding, he’s gone all weekend. Oh MAN. Of all mornings to sleep in. And he cooked me BREffast and all. My baby. He’s probably flying into Charlotte right about now.

God help me

As I type, my mother is most likely cleaning my apartment. Well, it’s her job, isn’t it? Kidding, kidding! You are so touchy about gender roles and female servitude. Just relax, already. She has a really fancy vacuum cleaner, and is also borrowing the cat when she leaves.

She’s visiting in order to HELP ME clean my place from top to bottom, and take my cat away for a few weeks, so that I can test a hypothesis: “I have become allergic to Pedro the Cat and that is what is causing me to have an average of 1-2 migraines a week.” I don’t know if that’s what it is, or if that’s even possible, but Pedro’s the only factor that I know of that coincides with my brain exploding. I have a habit of getting ahead of myself without the necessary information when it comes to theories like this, but a couple weeks ago LR put her hands on me and prayed that I God would give me some kind of discernment about what the fuck is going on up there, so maybe this is it. My record is 6 migraines in a row, every morning for 6 days. That was also a couple weeks ago. I am also in the market for an Ionic Breeze, possibly remanufactured. I have also started using a neti pot to wash out my sinuses with salt water. It’s more fun than it sounds. I will try anything. Anything.

I also have my annual review today, in my boss’s backyard. I wonder if I’m due for a raise…I don’t remember. I’m comforted by the fact that it will probably involve wine. Yes, I know that red wine is a migraine trigger. I can’t think of many things that aren’t, these days.

i’m the lucky one

We were waiting to board our flight back to Chicago. All the chairs were full and I was sitting on the floor with a carne asada burrito and the queasy weakness I get from taking my migraine pills, which was so strong that morning that Ben insisted on carrying all the heavy stuff and I didn’t have the energy to protest. It was then that I remembered that my manual camera was packed with my clothes, full of possibly gorgeous pictures that got more gorgeous as I realized that my luggage would be scanned and my photos probably wiped out.

Can I tell you something? I cried. Right there in front of everybody. It was quiet with my hands over my face. I think people probably thought that somebody died. I also pretty much blamed B, which was an awful thing to do; I didn’t say it, but I looked it, and even if I hadn’t he still would’ve been sitting there not being able to stand seeing me sad, and wishing to God he would’ve just remembered to grab my camera with his big strong hands.