Movin’ on up (and over)
Last night--or was it very early this morning?--I woke up in a haze and stumbled to the bathroom, suddenly realizing I was parched. I filled my glass up with water and had several gulps.
It wasn't until I was headed back to my bedroom that I registered the pain that had been with me for the preceding little while, the pain that had presumably helped to awaken me. It was as if a hollowed out section of my head had been left gaping right there in the middle of my forehead. It felt like my Migraine pain, but it was so strangely located for me (mine are on the left side of my head 90% of the time, the right side roughly 10% of the time, and in the neck and back of the head) that I didn't know what to make of it.
I felt as if I had a strange, dull, open wound in my forehead. It was throbbing and had been stuffed with cotton. The pain wasn't horrible enough that I couldn't sleep--probably about a 6 on the 10-point scale.
I was so exhausted and out of it that I went back to bed.
I didn't remember the episode until this evening, about an hour ago when the same pain made its slow return in the same place, but this time with little tiny wings extending on each side of the imagined hole, the wings flapping lightly and ever-so-painfully above each eyebrow.
Time, I say, for drugs.
Time, I say, for bed.
It's disconcerting for the pain to have moved, to have migrated again. As much as I don't like the Migraine headaches that have made their home in my skull for the last 14 years, there's a twisted sense of comfort in expecting where they'll be, knowing where they'll show up and usually knowing when. For the Migraine to appear in a morphed form in another room in the house is strange, unfamiliar.
Best to evict it and have it make its slothful return in a few days to where it belongs, tucked in a corner behind my left eyeball.
You've got an hour to get out of here, headache, or I'm throwing you out on the lawn.
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