Further Proof of a World Gone Mad

Yesterday, in two parts:
From the beginning.... I like to pretend that my migraines have little to no impact on me. I take my medicine, walk around in a bit of a stupor with slow and often slurred speech, and generally accomplish very little. How did I ever teach with these things? I woke up Friday morning around 5:30am from the migraine (I can't sleep mine off) with thoughts of impending doom. I took my $18 magic pill at that time and went back to bed. I made it to work on time, but the damn things was still hanging around... $18 magic pill #2 then entered the picture after a minor work crisis. I finally started to perk up around 1:00, but it was a long road back. After several walk-abouts with my fabulous understanding boss I started to feel a bit more normal (relatively speaking). I did some work (a pathetic amount) and went home early. After a good meal, the fog finally lifted. I'd like to add up all of the 12-24 hour periods of my life damaged by migraines. If you take into consideration that my first FULL mega-migraine (totally blurred vision, throwing up in the bathroom by the school office) occured when I was in 8th grade, that time could really add up. Anyhoo, such is life.

Towards the end... After dinner, I was basically back to normal. The medicine hangover had lifted for the most part and I decided to go to a concert. I really dislike acknowledging the impact of migraines on my time. I'll go do things just to spite them, as if that has any sort of impact. Anyway, I met some friends to see this group called The Ditty Bops (this summer has been my Summer of the Uknown Concert). They were entertaining, but we were seated rather far away in a booth perfect for people watching. Here's where things reallly take off. There we were, in our elevated perch a good distance away from the stage, having a grand ol' time. Some guy takes it upon himself to come over to our table (a good distance away from the stage with the vast majority of the people 20 yards in front of us) and tells us that if we are going to talk we should really just leave. Honestly! Were we too distracting for the 2 people sitting behind us? I'm bitter about this for 2 reasons:
1) the nerve of the guy just boggles my mind... my god, we were watching the Ditty Bops, not B.B. King or Aretha Franklin or The Eagles of Death Metal.
2) I was engaged in conversation and missed his misguided instructions. The ones who he said this to were too confounded to say anything. I had been through too much yesterday to give a hoot as to what this guy thought of me. I don't think he would have enjoyed my respone as my already dry sense of humor reaches new depths on migraine days (we're talking 8-10 Soda crackers in the mouth with nary a drop of water around). Whatev. We continued on in the same manner.
As we were leaving I had to walk through an area I lovingly call Thunderdome. Barely 20 yards away from the bar this skinny little Bitch-boy on a bicycle (I like alliteration) starts talking shit about my ass. What the hell is going on here? If you are a skinny gay man on a bicycle with no ass to speak of, don't talk to me about mine. I believe I yelled (yes, yelled) after him, "Shut the hell up, Bitch! Jealous much?" It is a world gone mad.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Give 'em hell. I'm off to bed.