Marta ~ May 7

 

It is not easy to proceed when you have a migraine. There are degrees of migraine, of course. The ones that keep you in bed for 3 days without eating. The ones that at least let you get to the kitchen table, let you wonder if it would be better to eat or not to eat, to have tea or not, to take the stuff in the bottle that may help but will certainly not be welcome by your liver or by probably any cell in your body at all. But you do those things this morning because you can, because you switch off your thinking mind of "what if's" and just let your body move where it will, and that's where it goes. One piece of dry toast, one small soft-boiled egg from the farm, one small cup of tea, and two of those wretched pills. And maybe you should wait until later in the day to write, but who knows if it will be any better by then. 

 

It's been almost a year since one of this severity hit. Maybe it's because you stopped that stuff that gets rid of heavy metals and other toxins, but you stopped because they say to stop after a couple of months, but with a headache like this you think you will jolly well start again. And it's a gorgeous day, a day to be happy on.

 

And when you're well, which is almost all the time, it's impossible to remember what this even feels like, even though it's been around since you were a teenager, and really moved in about ten years ago, declaring it would never leave, but you've done so much to curtail its wrath that it has reluctantly packed most of its bags, skulked away, and just stops by now and then to renew the acquaintance and say hello.