So, a literary post, then, instead of a musical post.
I am finishing up my novel. This is one of the biggest priorities in my life right now, and I really am not far from being done… a couple thousand words of sheer brutal assbeating with a little setup for the second book in the trilogy, some alchemical explosions, sexual tension, and as much filthy language as a book with no denoument can stand. Easy, right?
I had stalled out a bit, until I got a handle on how I wanted the action to play out. No sweat. Then, a couple of weeks ago, my migraines/cluster headaches returned in earnest. Now, I come from a long line of tough-skinned people who bury their pain no matter how acute, and just deal. Thanks, mom. That’s been a bit difficult to reconcile with Buddhist mindfulness, but there you go. So, since cringing in a darkened bedroom is not conducive to a number of activities I do- work, play, etc., I went to the doctor the other day.
That was great- I reunited with my old doctor, who actually moved to a smaller practice closer to me. He was very supportive and understanding of the crap I’ve been through with the divorce, and helped me move forward with treating my migraines. The preventative treatment he put me is apparently a very successful one- with the wildly awesome side effect of weight loss, which I can more than handle, and another that maybe I can’t…
On forums dedicated to migraine sufferers (migraineurs, if you want to be fancy about it) they have a name for this side effect, chosen by people who already seem to have it: “The Stupids.” Or for you laymen, ‘cognitive deficit.’ It can include memory loss, aphasia, confusion… wow.
My first dose made me feel like Dementors had come to return me to fucking Azkaban. Not dopey, just zero energy. I tried to write and failed, then figured I could probably make a little music. I opened up a song I’ve been working on, kind of a scary “Security”-era Peter Gabriel type track. I cued up a part, then… sat there. For like five minutes. Not nudging tempos, not changing warp points… nothing.
So I called a mulligan and went to bed. Okay, Kayla made me go to bed because I had fallen zombie-fashion on the couch. Next morning, I woke up feeling like someone in the house had gone into bullet time. This was not encouraging. If this was how it was going to be, I’ll take the fucking migraines.
The good news, again. After my second dose the effects are not as strong. I was able to sit through “So You Think You Can Dance” last night before going to bed in a relatively civilized manner. I suppose they titrate you on this medicine for a reason.
Well, I feel good and able to knock out some wordage tonight. That’s great, and hopefully it means a future of not wanting to tear the livid flesh from my own skull. Wish me luck, kids.