Morning After A Migraine:

Because who needs to get wasted when you inherited chronic migraines?!

Alarm sounds.

7:58.

7:58 pm? or am? I look around. Relatively bright; seems like morning. Ok: what day is it? Sunday? Church? Monday classes? Tuesday classes? Am I late for something? How much did I sleep through? What happened? When did I fall asleep? Ok… think. What’s the last thing I remember doing..?

I laugh at the piles upon my floor—layers thrown down in the process of undressing (only a few made it off before collapsing into bed, jeans and all): A computer; folders; books; hair pieces; glasses; purses; gloves; scarves; who knows that else is buried under there!

Some people live like this (everyday!). I can’t wait to be done with whatever I have to do on whatever day it happens to be to sort through this mess and pick it up again.

My keys are not in the pile, of course. After much panicked, frantic searching, I find them still in the door lock where I left them whenever I collapsed the night, or nights, before. I send up a short blessing that my roommate is a trustworthy friend. So much a friend, in fact, that keys-in-door-lock sent him a familiar message of sickness in the house to be respectful of. He had complied.

My breath is rancid because I could not find my toothbrush in the rush to hit the sacred pillow the night preceding. Of course, even had I a brush in hand upon my stumble into the room, my body would not have allowed me the basic decency of sticking a cleaning rod in my mouth to flush-out stinky germs. The stomach is a selfish organ: things are done his way. Risk wasting too much time before closing those pained eyes and you’ll start to become faint and nauseas… and that is only the beginning, my friend.

Walking to class is a chore. One foot. Then the next. Close your eyes as you go; only opening them peeks to be sure you are still following the sidewalk to Minne.

Once in class, the lecture either takes five minutes, or five days. There is no normal, balanced feeling. This depends on my mind and its ability to be unfocused enough to survive.

A shut-eyed trot back to bed. Sleep, and repeat.

7:58.

7:58 pm? or am? What day is it?