The forecast called for rain. Looking at the weather app on my phone, I see three hurricane patterns traveling across the Atlantic toward the US. There is no rain at the moment. It is 9pm and Masterchef UK is on the TV. I can begin to feel the subtle pressure in the back of my head. It’s like someone is pushing ever so slightly on it.
Migraines for me usually come in the small hours of the morning before I awake. 4am seems to be the time I wake up to the feeling like I was hit with an 18-pound sledgehammer between my eyes. Nausea washes over me as I fall out of bed (literally) and stumble to the kitchen to make an espresso, then another.
The effect of a migraine is in a way, interesting. It is not a constant pain. It, for me, is like the ocean’s waves. They crash on the shore of my consciousness with every fifth wave being a big one. Some of these fifth waves double me over in pain. It is difficult to endure even the smallest sound or the cloud-covered light of day. It is impossible to think clearly.
Today darkness is my friend; silence seems to be an impossibility with even the smallest sound magnified inside my head. The weekend calls for partly sunny skies. It is Monday and that seems so very far away.
The Journey of a thousand miles 