Migraine dayz. After a looong remission. I don’t even remember the last one I had, maybe even pre-pregnancy.
(Though I got a lot of occular migraines during. Lots of scintillating scotoma action which would yield a weird pain-free heaviness, distraction and cloudy thoughts for the usual 30min or so but never resolve into a proper migraine.)
This weekend (yesterday & voryesterday) was more on par with expectation as far as migraines go, though without lightshow. Then again, I can only count visual anomalies as very recent and still infrequent as far as Standard Migraine goes. For me, they usually just creep on with a sense of subtle but spreading dysphoria followed by the sudden distinctive bloom of regional net-like headache manifestation, electric blue at the conjunction of skullbase/spinal cord.
In terms of actual pain, not so bad. But other effects, namely dysphoria, ennui, malaise, render the situation very thumbs down. And of course the inability to retire to dark solitude triggers the twins, irritability and impatience.
Thankfully B was in a decent mood, so it was mostly a matter of keeping him occupied and/or distracted from infiltrating forbidden areas, of which there are, alas, plenty—babyproofing is still a work in progress, and B is in full pen-testing mode, exposing vulnerabilities like a mofo.
Meanwhile, post-acute phase migraine leaves me in an improved, though shallow-water state in terms of attention span, and more profoundly, with language circuits compromised. Able to observe the malfunction (interesting), but frustration trying to work through it live.
For example, just (tried to) describe this to T, and I can feel the cringing on the inside of his face as he listens to me fumble for words, sitting there simultaneously trying to mask his discomfort while emoting sympathy.
But I can see it.
I can see everything atm.
Each of us emitting our own fields of energy and emotion, even B and Haku, sleeping at opposite ends of the apartment, still shedding fragments of color and shapes like radiation particles directly into the temporary detector array, that cold spot at the back of my head.
Migraine residue is like having the fine-grain synesthetic texture knob turned all the way up. Colors sickly phosphorescent. And volume, though not literally, rather sound waves rendered directly inside the brain without need of acoustic interpretation.
Trying to tell him about the 2016 Ghostbusters movie. How, given inability to read/write rn, turned to Netflix instead. Want to like this, esp given the meninist outcry at the time, but tbh it’s a slog. I’m only 50% through.
Maybe I can’t do big mainstream films anymore. Not even ironically. Ugh, that sounds elitist. Yes, I’ve got issues with on-screen entertainment, I’ll admit it. And the current dysphoria. And the synesthetic sensory overload.
But this movie: same oily sheen, same styling, same tropes, same gags, same caricature and cadence, same rhythm and resonance, same safe sandbox.
And it’s nothing to do with the film’s all-female cast. That’s the funny thing, bc I wanted to walk into this liking it. And I don’t even expressly dislike it. Maybe that’s the worst part. Apathy. It’s just the same old same same same.
Crawling back under my rock now.