Friday, December 5, 2008

Pain Relief (and a poem)

I write so long this morning that I am almost too late to go to Farmers Market. But I do, because my family needs fresh vegs and fruits.

Driving, I realize that I don't feel cheerful at all. I feel lonely, and quite sad. Bummer. So sad, that I don't really want to walk around the Market, chatting with the sellers and buying food. But I do, because my family needs fresh foods. Bags of strawberries and asparagus and brussels sprouts and persimmons later, I feel a little happier. I always feel better when I spend time around people.

Perhaps I am down because I am SO hungry. This is getting pathetic to admit, but I boiled dry a THIRD pan of water this morning. Utterly disgusted, I confine myself to one of the girls' yogurt snacks and an apple for breakfast on my way out the door, reasoning that I should be safe with cold foods.

I don't get any tea until this afternoon when I grab a waffle for lunch at Coffee Depot. Again, I don't really feel like hanging out in Coffee Depot, but I do because it's Friday, and what else am I doing? The counter guy takes pity on me; he gives me two tea bags so my tea can be dark and strong. Still though, my headache persists past food and caffeine. Perhaps I had a bit too much fizzy vodka last night...

I am actually delighted when my cell phone rings. It's my boss calling. Well, one of my bosses. Or is he my point-of-contact? It gets confusing when you're working for multiple places. But I think of him as my boss because he approves or disapproves my work and when he tells me to do something, I do it. I love making business-related calls during the day. It's my only contact with adults since everyone else I know is working at their "real" job during daylight hours and don't really welcome just-to-chat phone calls.

When I get home, I take the unusual step of swallowing down some ibuprofen. That's how bad the aching is, like hot needles pushing into various spots on my skull and blood clotting behind my eyes.

Seeing the bottle reminds me of this poem that I wrote this summer. It's sort of a tribute to my Tylenol-substitute.

Pain Relief

On the bathroom counter,
The simple white bottle
Of generic tablets that I take
For my clenching headaches
In jagged red letters.

My aching heart twists
With the wish that it were
Just that easy.

Oh, dear. This isn't uplifting at all, is it? Well, such is life... in all its variety and menu options. I'm not always cheerful, you know. I just persistently claim happiness as the better choice when possible.

The newspaper I scan in the cafe agrees with me. A front page article trumpets that happiness is vital to social health and is transmissible through your contacts (like the flu, but with better resulting effects.) I knew that; I really did.

Now I feel even more of an obligation to be happy for you all.

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