Yesterday, I developed a lovely headache. It started behind my eyes, moved outward latitudinally until it described the outlines of a lid for letting the pressurized contents of my skull out. Light hurt. I was talking to Shannon of this, and noticed that her head pulsed unusual colors in time with her words. Eventually, nausea moved me to the bedroom, where I suffered, listening to the oppressive thunder of the cat’s sleeping breath.
Migraine. Never had one. Don’t want another.
Shannon gets them from time to time, and knew not to nudge me, not to turn on lights or speak loudly, knew I didn’t want anything but to die. Knew – bless her – where to gently rub my nose and forehead to soften the rock-hammer strikes of reality striking skull, my pulse. She fed me the magic black pill (she promised blessed cyanide, but she lied; they were a barrage of herbal remedies) that further gentled things until I could sleep.
Today I feel fine – my hands are a bit unsteady, but that’s the end of it. All hail Shannon, bringer of the healing waters to wash down magic black pills!
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry