I knew I’d get a migraine. I knew it. I was lying wide awake last night, neck muscles you could string a tennis-racquet with, at three ack emma, wishing there was someone I could blame and therefore kill for all the horrible wakefulness, and I thought: ‘You know, it’s exactly this sort of frantic insomnia that gives me migraines. Especially if, as I vaguely suspect, my estrogen levels are dicking about in preparation for another round of Operation Mindfuck, or, Was That Ovulation? Yes? No? No? Possibly? Ohh, Never Mind.’
And I woke up again at six. And I finally got up at seven, and lurched into the bathroom, and noticed my left eye was bloodshot and puffy. Fabulous. I lurched back to the bedroom. It dawned apon me the lurching was a little more than half-awakeishness. Bloody buggering fabulous. Oh, look, a castellated scotoma. Twinkle twinkle. Fuck it. Take horse-pills. Go back to bed. Get out of bed to email work brief and misspelt excuses. Go back to bed. Pull duvet over head and pretend to be a fried egg.
I got up again at about 2 pm, feeling dizzy, very hungover and very very hungry, but at least no one was trying to pick-axe their way out through my left temple anymore. Hurrah for horse-pills. Spent afternoon vegetating.
I used to get about one or two migraines a year. I can only attribute the vast increase in frequency to hormones, or, specifically, to whatever hormonal wibbliness goes on in the lead-up ovulation. Now that I do ovulate. So, does this mean a) I am merely very tired, or does it mean b) I am going to ovulate at a normal sort of time this cycle? This unmedicated cycle?
Don’t answer that. It’s bound to be answer c) Bwahahahahahahah.
I haven’t read many of the comments I received yesterday/ today. Too busy chewing the sheets and swearing under my breath (oo-er). Will get round to it as soon as I get some sleep, I promise.