Yesterday was long and exhausting. And okay, when Buddy said going out for dinner would go a long way toward his getting over his long, exhausting week, I was all too ready to agree with him. No matter that we are still trying to get through leftovers from last week and that we were both going to be eating out today, for reasons I will explain in a bit, and that we are saving for summer trips. When you have a sizable tax return on the way, one dinner doesn’t seem that dire to the budget. But this is the last time. It isn’t just all those reasons above. I’m just tired of eating out. We haven’t been everywhere and the places we regularly eat at have excellent food. But it means driving out to some place where the music and background noise means it’s easier to text each other than to try yelling over everything. Plus there’s the pressure of making conversation. You might not think that’s a problem for married peeps. We aren’t trying to impress each other with sparkling personalities anymore because we’ve permanently approved said personalities. At least at home, if I don’t have anything interesting to say, we’re watching TV or something. No pressure.
Anyway, by the time we got home, after a stop to pick up some on sale Moscato, I was in total food coma. I didn’t read, write, or do homework. Just watched some hockey and went to bed. But that was good. I got to bed earlier than usual and today I had a long bus trip to DC during which I could catch up with my reading. At least, that was the plan.
As soon as I sat down, the back of my brain started tingling. I do mean brain, because it isn’t my scalp. This peculiar sensation is a warning that I am about to feel like crap. If it’s really bad, I start dropping into deep sleep, which scares the bejeezus out of the rest of me so I spend a couple of hours or more jolting awake because it feels like I’m falling into death.
It wasn’t that this time, for which I am deeply grateful. It was just the beginning of a manageable two-part hell. Part one is nausea and, ahem, other indigestion issues. Most of the time, the worst I get is nausea, especially if I’m not in the ‘falling to death’ mode. Actually getting sick is a mental battle. I know what’s going on, Stomach. You didn’t like the Mexican food with all the heavy cheese sauce and the dehydrating corn chips. I also know that at this stage, I can decide that I’m not going to be sick. So shut up and let me rest a bit. And it did. For a while.
Part two is the migraine, the variety that I can kill with pain killers if I catch it early enough. But if I realize that my purse is devoid of pain killers, I’m screwed. I had water and I was drinking it as my stomach allowed, but it was too late. By the time we got on the bus to go home, any movement nearly brought me to tears because the throbbing was so bad. It’s like glass shards dancing across my brain, like the plates of my skull trying to dance over each other, like someone is trying to peel my face off with a sharpish chunk of stone.
And none of that matters at all. I had an awesome day. No, I had an amazing, gorgeous, effing epic day. I was on that bus trip to spend a whole day visiting museums on the Mall in DC. By sheer chance, a trip that was going to be pretty lonely (as I’m not that friendly with anyone in my Art class), ended up being an opportunity to spend time with my Math friend and her buddies. We spent two hours in the Smithsonian National Art Gallery. Two hours looking at some of the most beautiful works of art in the world. It made me dizzy. I got to see the only Leonardo da Vinci painting in America. I got to see Whistler’s Lady in White in person. I got to see works by Monet, Manet, Guaguin, Picasso, Pissaro, Cassett, Raphael, Titian, Rembrant, Corbet, Bellini, Degas, and Van Gogh!!!!!
The only thing that would have made the day better (besides pain killers) was Buddy, but he had a gig today and couldn’t keep me company.
When we stopped for dinner on the way home, I bought some Tylenol at a gas station and returned to the dark haven I made with my sleep mask and travel pillow. By the time we got back to school, I was able to move around with out violent revenge from my skull, as well as comment vehemently about the insulting inaccuracies perpetrated by Disney in the unfortunately loveable movie Hercules. I’m sorry, if you’re going to do the Greek Pantheon you should at least go with the Greek hero, Heracles instead of the Roman analogue.
I know, I know, Disney effs up everything. But when kids go to learn about real Greek and Roman mythology, this will be the foundation they’re building on and they will be mighty confused. It’s hard enough keeping those heroes straight (Theseus, Perseus, Syphilis, etc) without an early imbedded cartoon telling you all the wrong things (Hercules and Pegasus? Really?). I especially dislike the portrayal of the Underworld and Hades himself. It’s not Hell and he’s not the Devil. Yeah, he doesn’t always get along with the other gods, but none of them get along really. And no, he and Zeus don’t always agree, but what brothers ever do? And don’t even get me started on the benevolent, apparently not a serial rapist, Zeus and his loving, not-hating-of-his-adulterous guts, wife Hera.
Anyway, that’s enough BS for one evening.