Cats. They aren't just for tennis rackets anymore. But I wish they were.
I am going in to fake work late today, because I've had six migraines since Saturday.
SIX.
It's been a bad week. I picked a bad week to stick hot fire pokers in my head repeatedly.
I get six migraine meds in one packet when I buy them. They are these little rockets you shoot up your nose. For some reason, when I opened the package LAST THURSDAY, there were only five in there, but if you'll recall I was not charged for these meds for some mysterious reason, so I didn't complain. Plus, there are occasions when stupid insurance won't fill the prescription, and in those events the pharmacist takes pity on me and gives me one little rocket to take home. I'm guessing that's why I got five this time.
At any rate, many migraines this week.
Last night, my book club had our annual fancy dinner at a highfalutin' restaurant. I got a small appetizer, because I be po', but it contained, you know, cheese. Which, hello migraine trigger.
At our annual fancy dinner, everyone brings small gifts for the crowd, and yesterday I brought the gift of a lifetime.
I brought mustaches.
How bad does my book club hate me, do you think?
I even made Sheldon, who already HAS a mustache, wear a mustache.
I gotta get to the waxer.
So that was fun, and a good time was had by me and my facial hair, and as I drove home I said, Oh CRAP. Another migraine. I mean, HOW MANY MIGRAINES does a person have to have?
And at this point, I've taken so many meds in one week that I'm not supposed to take more. I'm just supposed to TOUGH IT OUT and let it pass, because doctors are sadists. So I TRIED that, until about 9:30, when I would have liked to die, and then?
Then?
Guess.
I WAS OUT. I WAS OUT OF MEDS. Oh, I was like a heroin addict, searching for meds in that house. Although technically I've never SEEN a heroin addict, but I have watched a lot of Dragnet or whatever where they're searching about for their fix in a desperate fashion.
I remember when my mother smoked, and she'd be out of cigarettes, searching the ash tray for any butt that was smoke-able. I was like that.
Finally I remembered that I keep a spare little rocket at Ned's. It was our brilliant idea after I woke up there with a migraine and he had to mincingly drive me home while I died in the passenger seat. So I called Ned.
No answer.
"@##&$," I said. I texted him, hoping to disturb him on whatever date he was on. For the record, I knew Ned would not really be on a date. But when you're sick and desperate and your ONE ANSWER isn't home, you think the worst. "I need my migraine med," I texted. He called less than a minute later. Poor Ned was having dinner with his father, and I KNEW he was doing that, but in my misery I forgot.
"June! I'm at [insert fancy restaurant name here]. I'll go right home and drive it over!"
Well, then I felt like a dick.
"No, no," I said, dickily. "I'll...be okay. Enjoy your dinner." I had no idea what I was gonna do without that rocket going up my nose STAT. And yes, I just said stat.
"I don't care WHAT you say, June. I'll call you when I'm on my way to your house."
I like Ned.
I lay there miserably with one of those packs you put in a cooler pressed to my throbbing head, and I want you to know all four pets were in the bed with me, which technically is sweet but I really wanted room to splay out and moan. Talu was lying with her head on my waist. Well, let's be technical. Talu was lying on the place where a waist should be, and Iris was lying behind me, and all of a sudden Lu stretched over and snapped at poor Iris.
Talu is a dick. Even bigger of a dick than me, forcing Ned to rush home during his dinner.
The phone rang, which at that point may as well have been a foghorn or a siren or one of those airy things people squawk at sporting events, so loud and painful was it.
rustle rustle rustle. bang clang clang. "I can't find it. Are you sure it's in my coffee table?" rustle rustle. "GodDAMMIT," said Ned.
Apparently I'd already used the emergency rocket supply. "What can I do?" asked Ned. "Well, first, you can stop making that rustling noise," I said. Good gravy that was loud. We decided to hang up, and if it got really bad I'd go to the ER with Ned, because if you are desperate, they shoot you up with something or other that's supposed to be marvelous. I've never had it. Once I was desperate enough to GO to the ER, by myself cause God knows where Marvin was that day. He was probably out getting engaged. Anyway, that was in LA and the wait was interminable, and once a kid barfed in the ash tray I left.
So that was my evening. I got through it with no meds, but it's still HAUNTING me a little so Ima go to bed and hope to wake up perfect. Which, you know, I am so close to that as it is. No problem.
I mustache you to be quiet while I recover.
