crap.

I have a migraine. I've been battling it off for weeks (maybe that's where the bad mood comes in -- I keep trying to identify sources. It's going to spin off into ridiculousness. My head itches. Maybe that's why Bad Mood. My cat missed the litterbox again. Maybe that's why Bad Mood. The phone rang. Maybe that's why...etc.) but at some point there's bound to be a system failure and the migraine will come surging through the cracks like a vicious, clamping flood tide.

I'm headache prone anyway, and often enough they aren't migraines, but I'm pretty sure this one is. There's this inability to concentrate, the light hurts my eyes and so I feel this compulsion not to wear my glasses (I don't know why this helps, maybe being nearsighted means that my eyes can't focus the light as well when they're left to their own devices), and, most importantly, I've noticed myself absently pressing on my cheekbones and sinuses -- something I only do when there is Migraine. My right cheekbone in particular seems to have some kind of pressure point in it.

At the same time I tend to associate migraines as harbingers of, or accompanists to, good and new developments, as much as to stress and hormonal shifts. Migraines & goodness just seem to be a pattern repeated significantly over the last year. So who knows.

I know this blog has sounded like Doom, Catastrophe and Misery lately, but really that's because those are the only things worth reporting. The rest is same old same old: Get up. Eat. Go to work. Answer phones/make copies/write letters/run around like a crazy woman. Go home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. It's not at all bad, just a bit...humdrum. I'm examining ways to enliven things a little. (Write, Sarah. WRITE.)

Looking forward to the visit of the 'rents, which approaches by the hour. Also looking forward to plenty of sleep. And hoping the weather gets nicer so the occasional escape outdoors is possible if two additional people in my tiny house starts to get me claustrophobic. I'm used to my empty, solitary, quiet space. (If this goes on much longer I will be impossible to live with. Roommates have been out of the question for years -- I don't Play Well With Others when it comes to sharing space. I'm looking forward to a houseful of tumbling, noisy children someday -- that will obviously be different, exciting, and lovely, negotiation with a purpose. In the meantime my solitude and introversion are creating a terrible host. "Hi. Go away. There's too much of you for my living room. That loveseat? Decorative. Bye-bye.") As I woke up to half an inch of sheet ice covering every molecule of creation this morning, I'm skeptical. It's starting to melt, though -- definitely a spring sun. It has strength and function.

I'm REALLY looking forward to seeing my parents, actually, not the least reason being that I'll get a much-needed fill up of physical contact. No one touches me here. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration; people seldom touch me here. And I'm a touchy-feely, physically very affectionate person. I miss touch. Not just hugs either -- those little absentminded caresses, like when you're walking past someone and kind of run your hand across their shoulderblades as you go by, or ruffling someone's hair, or tapping someone on the arm to get their attention. All of it. (Hugs are really great though -- there was once this guy I stayed with for far too long because he gave fabulous, life-giving hugs. The moment when your ribs start to creak and all that deep pressure runs through your shoulders and back is just...is just. I miss those kinds of hugs. And you can usually only get them from guys, but I don't hug guys generally. That's where Dad comes in.) There have been times lately when the craving for touch makes it hard to breathe. So hooray, parents!

Oo! (Girly Moment Alert.) I usually get my skin care products from my Mary Kay consultant (who occasionally peruses this blog -- so I start this little ditty with an apology to you, K.), but I've been having issues with a.) tight money and b.) my own procrastination and running completely out of stuff before I think to order more and then have to wait for the post. So earlier in this Winter of My Discontent I ran out of moisturizer and money, and fell back on some Burt's Bees I'd had lying around. I smelled strongly of weird herbs, but my face didn't crack and fall off, which was the main point.

Well, the other day I was imminently in danger of running out of that too, so I made a stop at Mishawaka's organic grocery (Harmony Market) for more. ACK! They were out. I wanted to cry. But then I meandered into the beauty aisle and began sniffing out and squinting at various other brands of skin care products.

I found one that I think I love. It's for the oily skin which will one day turn out to bless me with lovely smooth skin in my craggy old age. It smells pretty. It minimizes the shine. It Feels So Good.

(Again, sorry, K. I WILL be needing more of your Mary Kay magic in future; it's just a matter of time. Nothing else will do for summer.)

Die, migraine.