Fear, focus, and the future. Here, C.M. Humphries writes about whatever.
Woke up this morning with one those Class-A migraines again. Sometimes I think they'll never stop. Think I'll never stop popping these pills at night for them. Popping two Excedrin every morning. No, three. Four. Never stop taking the Relpax for when the Propranolol and Triximet doesn't work. For when the Axert, Frova, Maxalt, Zomig, Imitrex, Amerge, and Vicodin don't work.
Even in a painful fog I can still concentrate on my thoughts about medicine, besides the fact none of it really works. My main question is, why do I trust my doctor when he prescribes a second pill--you know, in the case the first guaranteed-to-work pill doesn't?
Nevertheless, if I can stand the back and neck pain, I try to workout. Most days my head carries a weight that makes it improbable to work out in the morning. Impossible.
I throw up on these mornings, and exercise sure as hell doesn't help. However, I manage to lose more weight this way, although it might be unhealthy for me to lose any at all. People say I've lost my ass. Never knew people enjoyed looking at it.
And during these migraines I wanna write. I'm writing right now, but these fuckin' headaches have even made it into my writing. Seems endless. Seems pointless.
I wanna be a writer; not just any writer, though. I wanna be the writer. I don't care if all of it is crap. I won't sell out, but I will sure as hell push my name. I will make you guys all read me. Love me. Hate me. Become sick of my pen-name.
But I can't write a damn thing worth showing you all, especially not with these migraines. Maybe in a moment I'll write something satisfying, something pleasurable for both you and me.
How do I start?
Maybe by ridding myself of these migraine headaches. I don't think headaches should be associated with them, though. I'd take a headache any day. Hell, violent hangovers tuck their tails like dogs intimidated by bigger dogs when they catch a glimpse of these migraines.
To them, to you, to me, to us: I say let's get a move on. I will write something decent today. Or at least, I will write something. Relpax chased by coffee. Excedrin for later, this time. Axert to keep the day going.
Fear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever.