Linkety Link Link

Here’s a link to a before/after photograph that you will surely find more interesting than this post. I wish this type of comparison was available for all the crap we face on a day-to-day basis.

I have nothing of value to discuss today because my brain has pretty much been out of commission since Saturday, when my head started to fall off. Yesterday it completely fell off, and my brain activity flat-lined. I’m working on regrowing it, but these things take time.

So I have no exciting stories to share.

Except perhaps that I took my migraine and muscle relaxer medication last night, which is my drug cocktail of choice when I can no longer deny the burning sensation behind my eyes and the muscles in my neck being sucked up into the base of my skull. When I first experimented with this cocktail, I thought it didn’t affect me. Which, quite honestly, would have been a miracle since the scent of coffee turns me into a human pogo stick which thinks its trembling is indicative of an impending flu, and licking the rim of a bottle of beer turns me into the girl who thinks it’s important to continually inform everyone that she is, in fact, drunk (ya, THAT girl). I thought it didn’t work because I’d take it and then go to bed and wake up still all cockeyed. But then one night I took it in desperation and stayed up. A couple of hours in while playing cards in the dark with a friend, I realized that my hands were tingly, and I was clumsy in trying to rearrange my cards. So it turns out the cocktail works if I stay awake long enough for it to take effect before fitful sleep paralyzes my muscles in an un-relaxed state.

Anyway, why is it a story that I took the cocktail last night? Because I am akin to something between a drunk and an unsteady toddler (or perhaps both, according to Johnny Depp) when I take it. I walk into walls, I fall asleep mid-sentence, I am absolutely impossible to rouse (burglars take note), and I can’t make recognizable words come out of my mouth. It reminds me a bit of my alcoholic roommate from the dorms who would fall asleep perpendicular to her bed, face down, feet poking straight off the side with shoes still on. It was impressive – I could have a party and she wouldn’t wake.

So I get home last night and have obviously planned a low key evening, because how crazy can you get when your head has fallen off? And the boy sits down to watch a James Bond. My laundry is held up by the line of roommate laundry, so I determine to stay up long enough to see my stuff into the dryer, which will also allow the cocktail to set in before I go to sleep.

Unfortunately I think I fell asleep four different times in his lap during the course of the movie. And we’re talking DEEP sleeps (see: above). In between the stupor naps, I managed to accomplish much: I walked into the bathroom door jam, the bedroom mirror, and nearly ate it down the steps to the laundry room. And then I finally asked the boy to handle the rest of the laundry for me and collapsed into bed.

When he came to bed I (surprisingly) woke with a start and attempted to ask if he’d remembered the laundry:

werhoudwssss?

wait. hold up a second.

harmounzeeeeee?

ok. concentrate.

djoo restart th dryyyyyyyr?

Yes, he did.

Perhaps this should concern me. That I literally cannot make word-shapes with my mouth. Or that my brain cannot fire whichever electric pulses transform thought to language. Either way…kinda scary.

But my point I guess is just that you should all be jaw agape, shocked and impressed that I can even form one coherent sentence, let alone (however many I’ve written here and am too lazy to count). I mean, honestly, I think you should be giving me a standing ovation. Let’s hear some applause.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.