Migraines are like being hungover, in a boat, during an electrical storm.
So, that’s what I was doing in bed Tuesday night and a good part of Wednesday. My random thoughts included:
- I can’t believe my eye socket hasn’t actually, physically exploded.
- My parents still talk about their 1982 ferry ride across the English Channel and how everybody was puking over the side of the boat. It must have been like this.
- I understand now why really sick people just get tired of feeling horrible and want to escape their bodies.
- It’s a bummer that I’m going to spend the rest of my life in bed, lying just so to apply pressure to my eye socket. I’m gonna miss some cool stuff.
But then I felt better, and got up, and felt just a tiny bit delicate.
The next night? My Guy woke up all congested at 2:55. He got some Afrin, rearranged his pillows, and promptly fell back asleep.
I did not.
As my husband and 3 dogs snoozed blissfully, my random thoughts included:
- I’m starving.
- If I get up and eat a bowl of Rice Krispies, do those calories count toward yesterday or tomorrow?
- Why is the kitchen so far away?
- Well, clearly, I’m never going to sleep ever again.
- I should just get up.
- There’s stuff to make enchiladas. I should just get up and make enchiladas. That way, I’m way ahead of the game for dinner.
- If you make enchiladas at 4 a.m., that’s probably a sign that you are crazy.
I finally fell asleep at 6:15, having never eaten cereal nor prepped dairy-free Mexican food. Instead, I dreamt about antiques and awoke to my cheery, well-rested husband kissing me goodbye at 8.
I’m out of bed. I’m dressed. There are no enchiladas. It’s going to be a long day.