Friday, March 4, 2011

The One Where She Didn't Have A Stroke

Yesterday, I was scheduled to work the most awesome shift ever. I didn't have to go in until noon and then they let me come home at five! I mean--it couldn't be more awesome. Let's be fair, though, a girl can't survive on many shifts like that so it's kind of a treat. Like when your mom would slice up bananas and sprinkle powdered jello on them for desert. TREAT! But not every day, you'll get cavities. I am confident that all moms fed that to their kids. I don't want to live in a world where that didn't happen.

So there I am at work, wearing my favorite shoes (I can only wear these shoes when I work a short shift--it's like they don't believe in working more than five hours at a time). I'd been there for about twenty minutes, happily going about my business and doing what I do in a time-efficient manner, answering questions, smiling, signing for packages, finding new and exciting ways to say, "Lolz, you're the first one to make a joke about how I'm not doing any work!" I'm just standing there--keeping it real--when out of nowhere I start to feel this pressure behind my eyeballs. Now, this is either acute glaucoma or it is what I think it is and I think it's a migraine. Ten minutes later I was rendered completely useless--and also right (and also relieved to not have glaucoma--that shit freaks me out).

It's like my brains decided that I haven't been paying enough attention to them. They get all bratty like that, sometimes. How do my brains not know that I've been giving them far too much attention. They get all spoiled on my self-evaluations and then when I have to think about something else for a few minutes, the brain gets pissy. I can't handle it but what can I do? I have to give in to the tantrum. I was dizzy--and I was on the favorite shoes. Also, someone decided to pledge all of the wooden surfaces in our department so there's slick residue all over the floor and when I was helping a customer, I fell. It was all I could do to not just lie there in a heap and say, "My manager will be back soon. Take whatever you want and please, if I die, cover my face with a napkin." He showed up right before I exploded. And what a relief, too, because. Sheesh. The mess. When he showed up, I was sitting on a stool, holding a pen limply in my hand--and not at all in a manner that is conducive to actually using a pen. It was very Bob Dole of me.

I wouldn't use the word "chronic" to describe my relationship with migraines, but I might say "unsurprising". The first time I had one was when I'd first moved to South Dakota. So I was... 23? I don't know. Ever since that first one, I get one every six months or so. There's not really anything to do about it except take way more than the prescribed dosage of ibuprofen and Excedrin pm and go to sleep. So, I did that. I woke up, hung over, at around 5:45 pm and it made the whole day feel bizarre.

And that's why today feels like a Wednesday. Even though it is Friday. But I'm bright eyed and bushy tailed (that's a figure of speech, for the record) and ready to take on the day. Happy Friday, I guess.

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