Wednesday, March 19, 2008


I'm on hour 27 of migraine.
Every once in a while I try to convince myself that I won't get one of these ass-kickers again, that they never get this bad, that my brain is fine and everything is hunky-dory and I have no brain damage or scar tissue or a big jagged hole in my skull and that if I just have will power I can do all the things I need to and and and..
and then one of these hits.

This is one of those that adjusts the scale, like the kid that's too fucking smart and everyone gets a lower grade on a test as a result.

If it weren't or the pain pills I would probably be puking my guts out right now from the pain. As it is, the pain is there but held back at a distance because of the's like being in a room that's all duct taped up and sealed against the evil terrorist gas, but you can see through the window and see it swirling and trying to reach its greasy little fingers through any crevice it finds...and the pain meds are the duct tape holding those questing tendrils back, but for how long before the glue weakens under the assault and the pain starts shredding me again.

I used to be a good writer. I used to hear a kind of music when I read poetry, or great prose, and could even achieve that edge, that distant symphony when I wrote. Not anymore. Now I fumble for words, I wiggle my fingers in front of me with my eyes closed, trying to connect the words to the image, the words that are just out of reach.

Hell, some days, especially after a migraine, I can't find basic words like "dresser," or "cup."

Today is the anniversary of the war on Iraq.
I know this because ttk got stuck in San Francisco after a business meeting today, trapped in his car through a maze endless detours and surging crowds.

He finally headed back to his work and napped on the couch...I talked to him about an hour ago and he's finally headed home.
This entry is going to be lots of little snippets just cause that's what happens when my pain medicine kicks in--we call it "Blue Pill Babble."
See, years ago when I was first given the prescription for the pain meds (my migraines are atypical, because of the scar tissue in my brain from the surgery. If you don't know that story by now, go to to see my ANCIENT hand-coded webpage that I haven't gotten around to redoing, for the whole sordid history.) the generic form of the pills were round, and blue, and bitter as all hell. They're still bitter--I always say you know I'm in pain if I'm taking these, because they're so bloody bitter that I wouldn't be able to overcome that unless I am in dire need. But I digress.
Anyway, they were round and bitter, and blue. It was just easier to ask for a Blue Pill from ttk than to remember the name of the drug (plain old Fioricet, if you wanna know) so we got used to calling them that. Then a few years ago they changed the generic to a white oblong (still bitter as a bad fuck) but we've kept the habit of calling them blues, which has confused our friends to no end.
Weird thing is when they kick in, they make me babble. Noone is here to babble at, so I'm typing this whilst laying down, with my eyes closed. I intend to spell check this, so I'm not too worried about the monstrosities appearing on the screen. Mostly.
TTK called--he's 6 minutes away, so I can babble at him soon. I can feel the pain trying to get in through my blue duct tape. I would say "heh" at my silly metaphor but that might hurt my head.

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