I feel like a delicate bruised flower, the way that rose petals get those chewed-looking marks when they're crushed. I feel like my eyelids are made of very thin, bright white paper, and I don't know whether it's better for them to be open or closed. But I'm leaning towards closed. I feel like my skull is a hand-blown glass ornament, heavy and fragile, balanced on the wobbly end of a dandelion stem. I have a migraine. I am also a big baby, because this one is nothing, and I mean a teeny, weeny, insignificant nothing, compared to the migraines I used to get in my teens. Migraines in which suddenly, half of someone's face would disappear as I was looking at them, and then the lights would begin, and dear God get me home now because the pounding and the puking and the my-head-my-head-oh-lord-my-head will start soon. That's what used to happen. Then I outgrew them for a while; forever, I had thought. They showed up again, fairly mild, about 4 years ago. A short-lived shadow in my peripheral vision, then sensitivity to sound and light with the enjoyable symptoms I mentioned above. But still. It is the suck, and I need to go to bed.
--N
LATELY
My New Page - 2006-04-15
Life is a Magic Thing, Woah. - 2005-11-18
No Dooce for You! - 2005-11-09
The Nicest Thing Anyone Has Ever Said To Me - 2005-09-05
Ugh. Grunt. Some Other Stuff. - 2005-09-01
RANDOM ENTRY
all words � ME, 2005.