My mother is NOT a headache sufferer.

Whereas I have major, chronic headaches recorded on my medical history going back sixteen years, since I was eight years old. I'm pretty sure I was having them for a good long time before I ever mentioned them to my doctor, too.

But more importantly, my mother does not understand what it's like to have headaches so painful that you can't sleep. The idea of trying to fall asleep with the sensory equivalent of someone repeatedly taking a hammer to my cranium is just ridiculous, but she seems to not understand I KNOW these are not conditions under which I can fall asleep. She does not understand the idea of a headache so painful it keeps you awake for 30-40 hours at a time until you're so tired you pass out despite the pain, and that is the only way you can rest....for days on end.

No, instead she yells at me for being up all night, for wasting electricity by having the living room light on, for not being awake in the daytime. She doesn't actually care if I'm not sleeping, she just wants me to not-sleep in private. Sigh.

Welcome to a crash course of my childhood, dear reader. One mildly therapeutic post at a time.

Oh, and I start on a new prescription painkiller tonight that sounds promising. Wish me luck. ^_^

after the phonecall

I sat there with an idiotically goofy grin on my face until real life drew me back into it's disenchanting embrace.


And they lived bleakly ever after.

They had been dating for a year. Danny was a wild spirit, spontaneous and constantly leaping first and then considering where to land as a minor afterthought. Olivia was stable, dependable, and a planner. They had the same politics, same carefully thought out morals, same distaste for religion, middle eastern food, and mindless television. Danny liked the bar scene, Liv preferred dancing in the clubs. One was better at math, the other at English, so the mathematically-inclined Olivia did all the accounting, and the more loquacious Danny wrote the emails and letters on both their behalf. Their mutual friends marveled at how so compatible they were, that they were similarly minded on all the major points, and where they differed, they provided the strength the other lacked. Dan and Olivia each brought some of themselves into the other’s life, creating balance out of the chaos of individuality.

That is, until Olivia started burning.

In her, you know, naughty bits.

Danny did some explaining, and Olivia did some packing, some crying, and then some throwing of vases at Danny’s head and genitals. For the most part, she missed.

For the most part. Heh. He limped for a few days, at least.

Six months later, Olivia’s still on antibiotics and cries into her pillow at night. Danny recovered faster, both physically and emotionally, and soon moved the object of his sexual indiscretion into his apartment and the same bed he so recently shared with Liv. They were together for the next five years.


Fast forward a few years after that.

Olivia ended up alone, while Danny went through several more women before he finally decided he was bisexual and moved to Brazil. Liv dated on and off for a few years, but met no one special enough for more than casual dating. Danny now has herpes, and seven children by six women, none of whom he sees regularly. Aside from avoiding the occasional court summons, he is altogether pleased with his freewheeling lifestyle. Liv died in carjacking incident at 31.

So much for happy endings, eh?