Inside my comically stunted skull a mammoth headache has been hunkered for two days. The size and intensity suggest some type of explosion occurred, a significant one similar to the Big Bang. Neurons and cells and tissue bits are yet flying apart in there, crashing and tumbling and acting as irresistible forces meeting the immovable object of my cranium.
I would pay someone, anyone to get rid of this thing for me. Kathy Griffin, of course, leapt to mind immediately. Followed by an executioner, ISIS, even Jack Nicklaus is invited to take a swing at it if he’s so inclined. I won’t nitpick.This morning, I bent over to put on a sock and screamed like a schoolgirl, then fainted dead away from the searing, gushing pain. And, I’ll be honest, I embraced unconsciousness with enthusiasm. What I wouldn’t give for a mallet or a cast-iron skillet or a bludgeon to effect my quick return to a blissful state of complete insensibility. I’m close, like always, but I am aware.
Okay, that last part, the screaming and fainting, is a fabrication. The terrible pain, though, is all too real and genuine, there’s just no drama to it. I sit still mostly, trying not to move my head or eyes or anything else. I groan and sigh. I keep the room dark and deathly quiet. I assiduously avoid the news, because I can’t afford to scream at the TV in my weakened state. Or throw up.
On a positive note, I am fully functioning. My speech is clear, no cognitive impairment, and my balance is good, so this isn’t a neurological event; it’s just a big, volcanic headache, possibly a migraine³. In terms of scale, it’s a tempest, not in a teapot, but in a thimble. I either need a bigger head or an aspirin the size of a car tire, but I’d rather have both. Call me greedy.
Now I must seek relief. Watch, I’ll close my eyes and the world will magically disappea …
* poof *
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