So. Slept very badly last night, and eventually was fanfared out of bed by the Four Horsemen of The Migraine, Blurry, Woozey, Sicky and Sparkly.
Emailed work (I think I misspelled every other word), took the horse-pills, went back to bed. Lay there with pillow over eyes to shield them from the (burning! blazing! searing!) dimness of my blinds-drawn bedroom. Thought jolly little thoughts about cutting my own head off. Eventually, fell asleep again (oh, thank God) face-down in a puddle of my own drool and tears. Woke up at 3 o’clock with face stuck to mattress. Marvellous.
But the headache was a lot better, so I got up, had a cup of tea, and watched telly for a bit, until my eyes began to point out they were still not over the photophobia thing, really, and did I mind? So I went back to bed and listened to the radio instead.
And thought, so, I don’t sleep because of the whole Anniversary of the Peestick thing, and I am not sleeping because I am hurting emotionally, and what does the caring sharing universe do for me? Hurt me more so, physically. You know, for perspective.