What started as a stress headache brought on by yesterday’s doctorb appointment (more on that later) got worse and worse as the day went on, culminating in a headache-filled sleep made up of dreams about headaches and hurting from headaches and a party in which everyone had to wear a headache to attend. When I woke up, I very nearly pulled a Cheddar (sometimes she’ll wake up from a nap and puke on the bed) – my head had hit number two on Billboard Top 100 chart of worst headaches of all time. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to drag myself into the shower and remember how to get clean, wanting to die with every movement I made. By the time I finished and made it to the Moisturizing Station I knew I was in trouble, what with the fact my head hurt so bad I couldn’t see, the cold sweats, the shaking and the uncontrollable urge to purge. I stumbled back into bed, keeping it together long enough to bang out a 4-word email to the office informing of them of my impending death by migraine, then lay there in extreme danger of simultaneously vomiting, passing out, crying pitifully for my mother, spontaneously combustioning and more. I took the strongest drugs I could find and gave serious thought to taking eight more when things didn’t get better immediately. Eventually Ed woke up and closed the windows for me, allowing me to sink below the surface of consciousness until I swam up again almost 6 hours later – still hurting, but downgraded to a tropical storm. I can handle that. At least I can see again.

This has not been the best week I’ve had in the history of weeks. We were supposed to ride up to Whistler tomorrow to celebrate our anniversary, but the weather isn’t playing along and we have to take the car. I’ve never ridden the Sea to Sky on Lola before, and I was looking forward more to the ride than the stay in the village, but it’s not going to happen. Part of our anniversary weekend was going to be a trip to the baths at Scandinave, but I’m so freaked out about work and expecting to be fired any second (being sick today did not help my paranoia) that I don’t want to spend any money at all (the trip to Whistler is already paid for), so we’re not going to the spa. I realized I was dangerously close to running out of crazy pills this week, so I made an appointment to see the doctor yesterday. It took 103 minutes for me to get in to see the doctor, and my appointment took 3 minutes and 20.1 seconds – this started my headache, because I wasn’t expecting the appointment to take three hours including travel and I had a crapload of work to do. It didn’t help things at all that the doctor’s office is in a lead-lined basement and I couldn’t get a 3G signal, OR that when I finally did get a connection 75 minutes into the waiting I discovered that the axe had started falling at work – a VP “decided” to leave, and his replacement somehow started last Monday – or that I still had so much work to do and my increasingly terrible headache was making it hard to think. When I finally got home, I worked and swore and worried and ached but not fast enough and had to skip Heather’s Wednesday Night Salad Party. I’m supposed to have tomorrow off for our anniversary weekend, but I’m feeling so guilty about being sick today that I might go in for at least half the day tomorrow, since we’re not riding up to Whistler anymore. And my head still hurts, and oh the embarrassing medical issue I’m dealing with is basically unavoidable so we’re tinkering with my dosage again.

I’d like a do-over on this week, please.

Sorry for whining. I’m just sore and sad and scared and sweaty and stressed and other terrible things that start with S. My coping skills aren’t at their best right now, and .. you know, I always feel out of sorts this time of year. This Sunday will be six years since my dad died, and while everything I’m dealing with can’t easily be chalked up to moping, I wonder if the deathiversary is weighing heavily on my subconscious. Hm. Doesn’t help by knowing, though.

to do: burn down your house (with the lemons)