Think there’s a low pressure front moving through or something. Matthew woke me up this morning thrashing around in the throes of one of his migraines, and my head feels like someone’s compressing it in a vise. Although at least it’s not a super-sized, industrial vise, as these things go.
Matthew’s migraine meds are kicking in and he’s finally drifting off to sleep, but I’m not sure what analgesic to take that won’t do scary things combined with my Methotrexate, so I’m just having some coffee to let the caffeine do its brainy vascular goodness. And I’m taking a sick day.
In better news, either due to meditating on writing before bedtime, or not taking my clonazepam, or the synergistic effect of both, yesterday I finished my zero draft of the horror story I’ve been writing. 2000 more words, fork stuck in. Woo!
to william_mize for reminding me that my brain is a powerful instrument of which processes I am in control of, not the other way around.
Actually, I don’t think it’s quite at zero draft stage, but the story’s down from beginning to end, and I stamped the all important words “The End” on it. I’m going to do a few more passes over it before showing it to Matthew–after I figure out a way to get the vise constricting my head off–and then I’m tossing it up to Critters.org for the masses to pick apart. This one gets an advisory warning in front of it for gore. Surprisingly, when I’ve posted warnings like that before, it hasn’t decreased the number of crits I’ve gotten. I sometimes wonder if that sort of warning intrigues people rather than frightening them away.
Owie owie owie. My head hurts more than my arms do! But I wrote. Yep. I suffer for my art. Literally.