Friday

A Week's Worth of Monologues: Friday

Last night, I awoke to a distinct stabby pain, located just behind my left cheekbone. As it was approximately 4am and there was little else to do, I replenished my water bottle and went back to sleep.

Sleep is the answer to most conundrums...and that philosophy goes a long way to explaining why I'm no longer in university.

Unfortunately, there are some problems so big that even sleep cannot solve them. The next morning the headache was still there, and I was still saddened by its presence. I have been experiencing migraines and other tension-related headaches since the age of twelve - as such, I have developed a specialized two-stage approach in dealing with pain explosions located within one’s skull. This headache warranted a stage one intervention, called ‘Suck It Up, Buttercup.’ When stage one fails, I would resort to stage two: ‘Long for Death, Weep in Fetal Position.’

According to stage one philosophy, I went in to work.

A coworker was concerned. She stated, tactfully, that I looked like a giant bucket of cow shit. I responded that my head hurt, and she awwed sympathetically. I wondered aloud if it would turn into a migraine - many otherwise benign headaches will have me vomiting and begging for death’s sweet release by mid-afternoon. But it doesn’t feel like one of those headaches, it feels different…

…I wonder if it’s my brain-tumor?

(My optometrist sent me to a neurologist following a weird eye exam last month in which my pupils were different sizes, and since I have yet to have my neurology appointment, I remain convinced that I have a sizable brain tumor by the name of Steve…Hi, Steve!)

My coworker looked skeptical, but I remain convinced. By the end of the day, the pain was still present, and in general I was feeling like I’d been trodden upon by a herd of hefty goats. That evening, my headachiness turned into overall achiness, and I made an informed decision to skip my Saturday of (old) work and stay home and type instead.

…I hate life. I hate headaches, and brain tumors, and the achiness in my wrists and fingers and knees and back…I hate whininess, too, which does not help me not hate my self loathing self. And with that vortex of angst, I shall leave you, dear nonexistent readers…Good Night.