This appears to be another one of those mornings when I wake up 30 minutes before my alarm with a splitting headache. Lovely; another visit from the &*#%!@? Migraine Fairy. Just when I'd begun to hope that the b***h might finally have gone on hiatus she's returned to take up residency in my frontal lobe. God, how I've missed the night sweats, the waves of nausea, the feeling that I could vomit at a moment's notice. Welcome home, you fickle b***h. The key's under the mat; same as always.
This has the earmarks of being one of those days in which I merely try to survive and endure as best I can. If I'm lucky, perhaps I'll be able to sneak away from work early so I can come home and crawl into bed...or play a rousing game of Russian Roulette on the living room floor.
The one interesting thing about waking up with a migraine is that I generally come off a very strange dream. Last night's edition involved some wierd athletic sex, a round of golf (or was it jai alai??), and a horrific terrorist attack on San Francisco. Of course, I can't for the life of me remember how any of these things were tied together, but I imagine it had to be something rather unusual.
I'll spare y'all the witty rejoinders and insightful ruminations on my plight, because frankly, my head just hurts too damn much. I'm not sure it's possible to make it through an entire day without having a coherent thought, but I'm sure going to give it a shot. I figure that, if I don't think, I can't strain my brain. Ergo, perhaps the Migraine Fairy will grow bored and leave. No, I don't think it will work either, but at this point I'll try anything short of lethal injection.
