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Migraine Consequences before/after Mmph. Migraine. Migraines make me feel like me head is going to pop. They are not fun. I've noticed that, in general, unless one has specifically endured a migraine, one has no real idea what happens. Some will think that "a really bad headache" qualifies. No. Not even close. I'd describe it furthur, but I don't like whiners. This one popped off last night, while I slept. This has happened several times to me. My "trigger" for migraines is psychological, giving me more evidence linking mind/body interaction, as well as which entity evinces the primary role. This is not my only evidence, but I can only be hit over the head with certain facts repeatedly until I start to draw conclusions. (Lately, more and more I believe anymore that the mind/soul is the continuity of all, and the physical is subjective.) N-knee-weigh, my specific "trigger" involves decisions, big decisions, that I tend to brood over for long whiles. When the decision is resolved, course of action plotted, arm load of stress dropped, there are times that it is quickly followed up by a whanging, nausea inducing, vision blotting cranial pain fest. I only get a couple a year, which may be a testament to my ambition in life. And the decision last night involved coming to terms with me being "home" for awhile. (home in quotes because I tend to believe that after a certain while, home is where you make it, and realistically, I question whether I have made a home anywhere, other than the one that my WASP family has made for me. Does one grow too old to still refer to childhood haunts as "home"? Isn't one, after a certain age, responsible for their own "home"? Or rather, on a certain level, will the childhood spawning places always BE home? I brood too much. I wish sometimes that I could indiscriminately accept all the bullshit that life seems to throw my way, and just believe it. Alas, not to be. But it would be comforting. Hootie and the Blowfish? Yeah, they rock. My government is just, and everyone else is just jealous? Sure. Everything is great as long as I have a job and sports to watch. Bread and motherfuckin' circuses, every goddam time.) So, last night I came to terms with what I am currently doing. I remember, as I drifted off, which was part of one dialogue that had been running through my head the greater part of the evening (aside from lurid fantasies of the girl in my class...yep, the longer I wait, the lower my standards go, I teeter repetitively on the edge of being a man-whore more often than I would like to admit, although I haven't gone there yet) about some of the true friends I have in Denver, and how I felt about leaving them. I felt like I was running out on them. I also tried to consider what they thought, their judgments and opinions, and so forth. Until finally the clarion call came through. "This is my life, and I will not apologize for how I live it. I have to make no apologies for the decisions I make." And it was true, as much for me as for anyone else. Not your life=not your fuckin' problem. And I accepted that I was back "home", taking classes, and marshalling my strength for the next chapter. Decision made. Then came the consequence of me being a brooding motherfucker.
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