Life With Elves
I have elves in my head. I'm not sure how many are there. I asked my brother earlier today how many he thought there were, and he said, "It has to be an odd number, because they always get in fights when they try to choose teams to play basketball."
The elves are rambunctious little guys, rarely giving me more than a moment's peace in the last 11 years since they've been there. They love building things, but they're not good at it. Most of the things they try to build crash as soon as the fat elf, who's kind of a bully, decides to climb on. They do lots of hammering and jumping up and down. They must climb out of my ears when I'm sleeping sometimes, because they come back with all these new merry-making possessions--a hot air balloon that's not quite small enough to fit, a walrus that likes to rumble in my tummy, and most recently, some sort of contraption I've yet to figure out that makes the bottoms of my feet tingle.
The elves also have tempers like you wouldn't believe. Everything sets them off. They hate loud noises. They hate bright lights. Can't eat that; elves will get mad. Can't go there; elves will get mad. In fact, they're kind of mad at me right now for being on the computer. So jealous of my time.
The last 11 years I've been on Mission: Zap the Elves, but boy, are they resilient! They laugh in the face of triptans. Inpatient infusions got nothin' on them. Acupuncture, nerve stimulator, Botox, trigger point injections, so many preventives I've quit counting. I'm not really friendly with these constant companions of mine, but I've gotta hand it to them--If there's ever an apocalypse and all life on Earth is destroyed, the Migraine elves will hang in there.
Have you taken our In America Survey yet?