Side note: EoG took an accidental snooze while I was on vacay due to an incompatible plugin, not laziness – look there are even posts! I apologize for our time apart.
My time of not working is over. And now it’s time to start working again. In true manic Monday fashion, my first day back came through with an incredible start. Incredible as in unbelievable, not as in good. But before the rant about its terrible-ness, lets start with a sweeping statement about vacation being great. It was a real epic time. A trip from which to measure future trips.
Sunday I got a headache. It started in the morning and ached its way through the day. Off and on. From its feel I knew it was the beginning of a migraine, but was hoping some good sleep would thwart its hold. But seeing as it was almost Monday … the first Monday back after vacation, I should have known better.
About 12:45 am I woke up hurting. Big time. (If you’ve never had a migraine, just imagine a small person inside your head, hitting you with a hammer. They’re also standing on your brain and somehow using their evil to summon vomit.)
It was storming, which is mostly irrelevant, but also fitting to the situation. About how there was plenty of rain and zero Excedrin.
So I got up. Told the husband about my plans to go buy drugs. Like an addict.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“At the store, I have to go buy it.”
“You need it right now?” It was at that moment that I realized we’d never discussed migraines. It also told me he’d never had one. This showing was maybe my fifth ever, but it sure ain’t something you forget. More like each throb cements the event into the depths of your memories.
Then I got dressed and I left. The rain felt surprisingly good on my hot skin. I even made it three-ish miles before two things happened 1) I pulled into a Goodwill parking lot to (almost) puke. 2) I realized it’s not safe to vacate your car in an empty parking lot at 1 am. Especially since I’ve moved to a town that’s less (ahem) affluent and more (ahem) cultured and (ahem) diverse than my previous residence.
Then Dillon’s was closed. I live in a town where Dillon’s isn’t a 24-hour operation.
Wal-Mart, We Reunite
Next, I did the only thing I thought I could do. The pharmacies were closed. The gas stations were closed. I was trapped. And my head got more painful by the second.
So I drove to Wal-Mart. I walked in like I knew where I was going and I joined the other 1 am shoppers in their loud and bright journey to buy new things. There was even a toddler sporting PJs; at least I had put on jeans! A bra, no, but jeans, yes. I’m not a monster.
It was the first time I’d given them money in seven years. Then to pay them back for helping me with the medicine I needed when no one else could provide it, I puked in their parking lot. I puked long and hard and one of the worst up-chuckings of my life. I’ll probably never eat Gardetto’s again.
At least it was raining.
When I got back, Bo asked where I went. Why I didn’t tell him I left. Or why I didn’t ask him to go. And in response, I puked again. To which he spoke with a very accurate, “I don’t know what to do.”
I said “me either,” and we both laid back down until I fell asleep. (Have I mentioned that being married is awesome?)
Later he told me how he thought I was dying. And also that the gas station – just a few miles from our house – is open 24-hours a day. Which could have saved me from a Wal-Mart trip.
“That’s why you need to ask me to do things like that,” he said. “I know how to get things quick in the middle of the night.”
Whatever that means. But next time, the job is his.