|trying this again|
The phone rings. It's 7am. Slater with a take on the world energy is calling between leaving work and getting to class. He just wants to tell me to have a good trip. I am attempting to focus on his words and not on the matter inside my head, the matter inside my head being the explosions of pain which can only mean my brain is finished with me and is now attempting to destroy me. That is what is happening but I don't tell my kid because there is absolutely nothing he could do about a pain of which he is familiar. Slater started having migraines when he was sixteen though now they have lessened in frequency.
This is my first. I'm not going to have them anymore.
I suck at illness. I don't do well. It's like those Friday the 13th movies which were all the rage when I was a teenager. You know how Jason would be after his next victim and he or she would be running and falling and out of breath and trying to get away and you'd hear kill, kill, kill, ha, ha, ha? No? I'm not recommending those.
I just need to tell you that I always thought those people should give up unless they were trying to give themselves a heart attack before he got them 'cause ohgoodgosh the anxiety of it all. Die already.
Hello. I am the most compassionate person on the internet. Obviously.
Yesterday I made two phone calls after talking with Slater. Those two phone calls took care of my obligations to other people so I could proceed to die between bouts of puking which Dad says is not a good word, I should use vomiting, but I say vomiting is way too mild for what that was. I went to the crossroads, sold my soul to my brain, found out it was a bad deal, got in the fetal position and prayed for an out of body experience because that body was not making it to the beach. It was all it could do to make it to the bathroom.
All that to say, Beach trip is on. Dammit.
I walked toward the light, got on the other side.
It is especially beautiful here.
Today I am grateful to see colors brighter, to go outside, to listen to music, to drive.