Migraines in the Brave new World

Why have they not invented a cure for the old migraine. Of all the things they could do with their time. I go to a doctor to obtain a prescription in anticipation of the next migraine and she tells me to use magnets. I leave her office naively hoping she is right. She must be, an old Egyptian woman with a hefty jewel encrusted gold ring on her every finger as well as being a qualified doctor. She must be right. No drugs? Weeks go by and I consider I may be on to a good thing. No,............ the mother of all migraines rolls in and I contemplate what it must be to die while chocking on ones own vomit. All the while the utter meaninglessness of my dissipated existence threatens to consume what little remains of my thoughts. I have noticed though, that an angry thought brings on a fit of retching. Now I am not sure what the subliminal messages are there but I guess I had better watch it. Looking forward to finding a doctor who WILL subscribe me some of the stuff that I am told you snort thereby releasing you from the strong hold of said migraine.

Nice eh? Well the house has huon pine floors and it looks pretty inviting with the ............yes, the IKEA flokati rug. Sucih thinks I am urbane but they remind me of a private library I knew as a child. Tartan rugs on wing back chairs with open fire and the Melbourne drizzle outside, but the flokati, oh the rug and not a pet in sight to defile it.

And I do believe God does listen. This is an unsavoury description but something rebellious inside me feels compelled. While I lay there in pain suffering spams that force union with my favoured bucket, I considered prayer. I asked Dear God to take this seemingly unreasonable pain away. I mean, what could I possibly have done to deserve this apparent torture? Low and behold, my daughter walks in with some random medication she had picked up on her travels [thankyou Pratapana] and I deposit the miniscule tablet on my tongue. With in minutes I was relaxed enough to no longer fear I was going to regurgitate my heart, or spleen for that matter.

Spent the whole day in bed negotiating my thoughts on what it means to be forced to remain an observer, while at the same time suffering. The kids went to the beach with dad. The afternoon brought a house full of happy people contemplating the next adventure, Pizza at Nrsimadeva's. Well poo, I didn't want go anyway. And still the darn thing has not left me but I am so bored I push myself knowing I can lay once more in a pained stupor after this.

We have no TV. I sometimes wonder if it is a good thing as we often haven't a clue as to what is going on. Did the government want to give us more money? Yes , no , I haven't a clue, I don't watch the news. I am sure if we get one it will destroy what little mental activity we have in this house, well the positive kind anyway. The hum and buzz of the telly that says it is all right , do not think, do not act, all is well. Speaking of lethargy and our societies inability to act on anything at all that is important. {am I wrong here?] I am wondering if this malaise has not spread to our beloved pipe dream..........ISKCON. Ok I concede, there were no pipes involved with the dream but I do wonder if there is this horrendous malaise. Actually, I really should retreat to my former safer stance of not caring. This is the preferred and fashionable thing to do. What an obedient lassy I am.

And I leave you with this snippet, well, I leave me with this snippet care of Nietszch; is that how you spell it?

"Most thinkers write badly because they communicate not only their thoughts but also the thinking of them"

Go figure that out. I haven't the energy but maybe one day. Gooden nacht.

I have forgotten how to do the photo thing...........bum