Thursday, January 20, 2011

Ears Spiting Faces All over the Place!

Imitrex is a cruel mistress. Perhaps that's why it shares so many letters with dominatrix. (Oh boy, the hits I'll be getting now.)

It's a gamble. It's a deal with the devil. (Again. Devil. Dominatrix. If I get a zillion hits a day for Tigger when I've never even typed that word until just now, merely posted Eeyore's picture... Hello, future misled search engine victims!)

ANYway.

Here's the thing with Imitrex. It takes your migraine and sucks it right out of your head. No more migraine. Yay! Miracle!

HOWEVER, the makers of the drug are clearly fans of stories like "The Monkey's Paw". Its help comes at a cost.

Imitrex takes your migraine from your head -- miracle -- and crams it into every other cell of your body -- the horror! At least, that's what it does to me. No headache, but my skin hurts, my muscles hurt, I get puffy, my throat aches, I can't eat or drink, my jaw feels tense and achy, my heart beats strangely, I feel heavy as granite. Oh, the fun we have! It's still better than a migraine, but it's crushingly awful for the first hour or two.

Oh, and tee hee hee -- you must, simply must, take it at the very first sign of a migraine. Since I don't get auras or any of those signs, it means I have to take it at the first sign of a headache. But what if it's a normal headache and will go away with Tylenol? Then I won't have to suffer psychedelic assault and battery for no good reason. But if I take Tylenol and it doesn't help, by the time I know that, it will be too late, and I'll have my brain replaced by a black vortex of howling pain.

In short, it's a gamble, and one I've had to make for the past four days. I'm resisting a fourth Iminatrix right now, and my brain is messing with me. Here's a trammeling of pressure and pain and -- whoops -- it's gone. It will be back as soon as I start to relax. Snarl.

In other gambles this week, I ordered a pair of  shoes that were on clearance but still cost just enough that I got mad when they felt like walking on rocks. People swear they feel like heaven once they mold to your foot and get broken in...most of the time. If not, you're still out the price of the shoes since they've been worn and are no longer returnable. I got lucky. One or two wearings (yeah, I took the chance), and they do feel nice.

Writing? Not sure. I was draping myself morosely across the furniture last weekend, bemoaning my lack of productivity, and then I remembered I'd just scrawled out 2500 words. It felt like nothing. Not effortless, just insubstantial. I'd already forgotten it. Two nights ago, I wrote 1500 words that I thought were quite useful, but when my husband read them to me aloud, I realized the scope of just how vastly wrong they were.  So am I writing? Yes. Am I happy about it? Hmm.

The good news is that my revised sections are great! The bad news is number four on this list over at the Office of Letters & Light.

Wishing you all a great week.

2 comments:

  1. Please refer to numbers 7 and 8 on that list... Or perhaps I will tattoo them on the backs of your hands, your forhead (backwards of course for ease of mirror reading) and stencil them on the walls of your room. :)

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  2. But the walls of my room are already covered with great scrawls of, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Boy will Jack be mad when he sees that.

    However, having, "My book is better than I think," tattooed on my forehead will make me super attractive to agents and other writers. ;)

    (Seriously, thank you Thither. Mwah!)

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