News about migrains! :D

So, news!

I have finally and concretely discovered what causes my daily tension migraines!!!
Alas, there is no cure.
Three hints: it’s old, wrinkly, and has a queer obsession with onions.

Any guesses…

Three more seconds…

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THAT’S RIGHT! My grandmother!
Don’t believe me?! HERE’S PROOF!

This morning, despite having an essay due, I was in a pretty damn good mood.

I almost did the splits while walking to the bus stop because of the ice, but I actually laughed it off. LAUGHED IT OFF, even though I usually would have been embarrassed beyond belief and would have grumbled and been angry for the rest of the day. I was happy.

I get to class, and Doctor Reynard was unbelievably hilarious! Talking about how alchemists helped aid I the advancement of science because they found out when chemicals didn’t go well together when their houses of faces blew up. Stuff like that. Hilarious.

So I hand in my essay, walk with my friend to the midway point where she heads off to the library and I start the trek up the hill to my school. I had bought the newest Coheed and Cambria cd this past weekend (late, I know) so I was all singing along (in my head) to the music and sliding on ice through the parking lot and being awesome. ‘Cause that’s what I do on my Monday, Tuesday and Thursday hikes up the hill: be awesome.
So I sat in front of my classroom for the hour and a half before class started. I did some work for tomorrow, then chatted with my friend Steph, then Raeanne showed up and I chatted with her. Then class began, and it was two presentations which were “not testable”, so we didn’t have to take notes.
So I sat there and enjoyed myself.
After class, I walked down the hill, head bopping to the music, caught the bus and walked the block-ish from the bus stop to the house.
All fine and dandy.
I walk in the door, and she starts harassing me to “drink your milk” (soy milk), to “just drink it” even though I wasn’t thirsty at all. So I head to the washroom as she calls after me to eat something because “if you don’t eat, you don’t learn” etc.
In the washroom.
Look out window.
See two pairs of pants on the back porch railings.
Look closer and realize that I haven’t worn either of them in a week.
Nay, one of them I haven’t worn since before Christmas.
I leave the washroom and tell her the above. She then says she was just “airing” them out. I go and snatch them, now covered in snow and frozen stiff.
She’s standing just inside the door, and as soon as I close the door she start yelling about “why you just throw things on the ground?!” so I yell back “because I’ve been writing 5000 word essays and don’t have time to pick stuff up right now”.

Every and all of my pants are on rotation. Well, other than the ones I hadn’t worn since Christmas, they’re my “fancy presentation” pants, the ones I wear only for presentations. So, naturally, with my stress level a 17 on a scale of 1 to 10, my room is a disaster. Clothes and books are piled up EVERYWHERE.
So I start going up stairs and yell back down “you’re not supposed to go up here anyways, GOD!”
She’s done a number on this room, let me tell you. The piles of clothes are gone. Great, right? Not really, because they’re not in the drawers, nor in the closet, so that means she’s washed them. Even if they had only been worn once, or not at all, she doesn’t care. If it’s folded on the bed, she’ll take it and deem it laundry because she’s fucking crazy.
And I think of the wasted water. And the fact that she hand-scrubs the underarms to DEATH so now 90% of my black shirts are un-wearable in public because, really, who wants a black shirt with white armpits? And they are white. Same with my used-to-be-favorite purple, long-sleeved shirt. White. And then she’ll lecture me on not putting my clothes in my laundry basket, and how she had to walk up and down the stairs and the basement steps and how she “didn’t know what was wash and what was what”, even though she really DIDN’T have to do all that shit.

And now I have a migraine. My head is pounding in that same spot as always: the left temple. Making my eye water and hurt to close, blink, move.
I have shit due/to do for tomorrow. I can’t do it if her harassment gives me these migraines, daily.
Like I said, no cure.

But next year? Oh, next year I’ll live in the hospice across town, but I’m not living here again. I can’t take the daily migraines. I seriously think they’re making me go a little loopy.
No doubt about it.
I’m not the same “Kristen” I used to be. I’ve changed, for the worse.
Daily migraines can do that to a person, I suppose.