Wherein I whine about my health. [Reader exeunt stage right]

My head has been hurting all day. All. Fucking. Day. The all-day part isn’t rare; in fact, my head has not had an ache-free day in eight years. I’ve come to terms with this daily headache, but today began particularly miserably; I barely realized that Brian had snoozed thrice, showered, dressed, and nuzzled my cheek before he left. [I like the nuzzle.] Normally, I’m out of bed at the first alarm at 0530 to coax him awake. I then make coffee, cut some fruit and sometimes pack a lunch. I’m one of those much-reviled morning people. So, anyway, I awoke several hours later with a nasty, shooting and throbbing headache, not quite migraine territory, but ghastly uncomfortable.

With the intention and want of becoming minimally functional, I narc’d up despite doctor’s orders and waited. &waited. My roomie, ever-so-understanding, took out Dog before he left for work. &I waited. No relief. I took another. &waited. Ad nauseum. So, the day progressed — the narcs, useless, I, useless, listless, exhausted. The fresh laundry sat, still sits in the hamper, waiting to be folded.

Eight years into my campaign, still no replies on my offer to trade bodies. It’s time for a brain transplant.