Out with September!

It’s Migraine Week at Fluid Pudding, which means I’m taking pills and feeling a little hazy and preparing for the deluge! This is how it works. Three days before the headache REALLY hits, I feel electrical charges in my head. (I believe I’m speaking figuratively, although I’ve never held a light bulb to my ear when the charges are firing.) I started feeling the charges on Saturday evening. That’s when I started taking my customized cocktail pills!

Two days before the headache really hits, I start feeling nauseated. That’s when it’s time to bust out the Zofran! (I busted out the Zofran last night.)

One day prior to the slam, I get all sweaty and forgetful and tired and short-tempered. About an hour ago I drove to the post office to mail a letter to Meredith (I’ll explain later.), and about ten minutes ago I spent a disturbing amount of time searching for the very letter that I mailed an hour ago. (It wasn’t here. Because it’s at the post office. Because I mailed it. An hour ago.)

All of this to say: Business as Usual, although the timing sort of sucks because there’s a PTO meeting tomorrow evening and Meredith leaves for 5th Grade Camp on Wednesday. I’m boring you.

Here. This is better. I’m standing on the edge of a tiny tattoo. I had Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands tattooed onto my ankle when I was 23 and I could tell you why, but I’d almost rather not. (The things you stir up in your head are often much more interesting than my reality. Girl, you know it’s true.) Anyway, a few nights back I said something on Facebook about my current craving for a tiny ambigram tattoo on my arm and then the idea sort of blossomed a bit more and a wonderful woman/artist stepped up and said she would help me, and all of a sudden I have a jpg file and the possibility of a consultation with a tattoo artist sometime soon.

I’m 43.


(Harper got a tattoo when she was four. She’s such a badass.)

So. Fifth grade camp. Meredith will be heading out with all of her fifth grade classmates on Wednesday, and they’ll be building fires and shooting arrows (at nothing that’s alive) and looking at stars and singing songs and catching (and kissing and releasing) fish and basically having the time of their lives until Friday at approximately 2:45 when they return to the outstretched arms of their weepy mothers. Meredith is Very Excited.

One more thing. Starting tomorrow, a good friend of mine and I are kicking off a week long adventure of not eating any processed foods. I spent the morning at the grocery store buying butternut squash (pre-cubed because I am not strong) and (the largest possible) SweeTango apples and (clean and ready) mushrooms and (I have no adjectives for my) sweet potatoes and things that are made up of ingredients that I understand. It’s going to be tough, but not so tough. It’s going to be simple and healthy and clean and beautiful. (Have I mentioned that I’ve been taking pills for the past three days? Get over here and braid my hair.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Welcome to my migraine!

So, here we are again. It’s Day #3 of my monthly migraine, and although I thought I was on the right track yesterday, it turns out that I was not, and that always bums me out a bit. I’m now keeping a migraine journal, and it looks a little something like this:

June 7: Ouch! Took a Maxalt. Pain: 7/10 … 8/10? Pain!
June 8: Better in the morning? Continued with the preventatives. Not so great in the evening, writing it off as stress.
June 9: Ouch! Ouch! Not sure if it’s stress or hormonal. Took a cocktail pill. Two hours later, determined that it IS hormonal, but am now unable to take a big gun pill, because I took a cocktail pill! Life is spent paying for mistakes and bad judgment and IT’S BEHIND MY RIGHT EYE! Called doctor. Received permission to take big gun pill at 6:00 this evening. Am now counting down the minutes. 320!!!

I go back to the migraine doctor at the end of July. The final straw would be the application of a hormone patch during one week out of the month. We’re hoping to find a pill that will do the trick before we have to resort to the patch. Anyway. Wake up out there so I can talk about the dog! I know! (Believe me. I know!)

Last night was Scout’s second obedience class. Sadly, I’m currently reading a book that goes against a lot of the things that the instructor is saying to us. (For example, the book says that anyone who makes a blanket statement about a certain breed of dog is taking the easy way out. Saying “All beagles whine and are difficult to train.” is like saying, “All white people like coconut cream pie.” (I *do* like coconut cream pie, if anyone is interested in meeting me for some.)) Anyway, last night the instructor held Scout like a baby with all four paws in the air, and Scout hated it and screamed like she was in pain. Because of the screaming, the instructor sprayed bitter apple into Scout’s mouth and said, “It looks like she’s used to being the boss! She needs to learn that she’s not the boss!” Okay. First of all? Scout’s not the boss. She’s doing really well with all of the training elements of obedience training. To me, spraying bitter apple into her mouth because she didn’t like being held like a baby is sort of like punching my nephew in the face because he doesn’t like chocolate.

I’m the first to admit that I’m not the expert. The fact that I’m uncomfortable with the whole bitter apple thing probably puts a big “Naive Dog Owner” stamp on my forehead. (During class last week, I was accused of engaging in Wussy Talk. I’m still not sure how to respond to that, which probably indicates that I AM a wussy talker.) BUT, I did notice that Scout was quiet and hid from the instructor during the remainder of class last night. (Last week Scout was the crazy misfit during class, so it was a noticeable change.)

(As I type these potentially mind-numbing paragraphs, please know that Scout is under the computer table whispering things like, “That bitter apple crap is whack, yo.” and “I tend to prefer Sondre Lerche’s Human Hands to the Elvis Costello version.” (We all have our opinions.))

Tomorrow morning at 7:00, I will drive Scout to an animal hospital in the city where she will have her lady parts removed. What a discouraging week it has been for her. I wonder if dogs get migraines.
Only a few hours remain! Come on over and comment. You could win a $100 Visa gift card! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>