Back from the other side

Felt like I shoulda been on one of those spinny bed things that they put spinal patients on. Woulda felt pretty good. Along with a morphine drip.
Instead I took some of the heavy-hitters- the ones I keep on reserve for the migraines that don't respond to the usual suspects. Indeed. And did the pain lessen? Somewhat. For a while. I dove into the embrace of the warm, fuzzy darkness.
Hello darkness, goodby pain...
And then I had to wake up. And try to find a way to walk into the kitchen all bent to the side without falling over. From the medication and the pain that returned in a rush. Taking my breath with it. OUT in a whoosh.
But then I was getting better by increments. Little degrees of wholeness in the fabric of dark fuzziness. And those moments stretched out. And I could remember what it was like before the pain hit. Fucking Raconteurs concert. I blame them. But that's stupid. There is no blame. No apparent cause- because I just can't figure out for the life of me why the hell this happens from time to time. I don't lift heavy things. I don't actually exert myself much at all. Not that I'm a total sloth. Just a partial one. We'll call it either ennui or basic entropy. That way I can pull from the philosophers of yore and the physicists of your. And there we have it. In a tidy little self-published package. My weekend. By C.
We'll just see how long it stays away today while I sit in a chair in a climate-controlled office. I get one shot at this. Then I go. Back to the bed, the warm, fuzzy darkness and the grumpy surliness of coming back from that place.