Our Lady of Relpax
Friday night, while visiting relatives up in Fweenix, I seriously entertained the notion that I might die from a migraine. The only things that kept me from going to the ER were a complete physical inability to get off the couch, for fears that my left eyeball might shoot clear across the room if I moved, and the nonconstructive notion that 41 is a little too old to go waking up your mom in the middle of the night because you don't feel good.
So here it is Monday morning and I'm still in my soccer-ball pajamas, waiting for the blood vessels to decide to re-open or close or knot themselves off or whatever the fuck they need to do so that my head will stop trying to explode. Carry on.