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I don’t get headaches that often. Migranes even less so…but this is two days in a row, so, yeah. No good.

And it’s not even that my head actually hurts when I get migranes. Because…apparently my brain doesn’t register pain as, you know…pain. It does stupid, annoying things instead.

Like yesterday. I got home and tried to read and could not because my vision was overwhelmed with what I always think looks like TV snow.

Image result for tv snow

And I am trying to see through it, but it’s like it follows my eye around and I can kind of see through the edges of it, but if I try to focus on a particular thing, the image dissolves into snow. It’s that kind of thing that makes you ridiculously angry and has you asking yourself if you’re going mad…that sort of nonsense.

Today isn’t snow though.

Instead, today is a pain beside my right eye, but which my brain is registering as cold, rather than pain. The sensation you’d get if you took a soda can from the fridge and held it to your temple.

I hate it. Because it’s not pain…it’s just this maddening sensation that I can’t shake.

I’m going to go to bed soon though. Hopefully if I get a decent sleep it will go away. *sigh*

Before I go do that though, a work conversation. Because Paris will be leaving us soon, so he is taking every opportunity to speak to me in French…apparently my fake outrage is a thing that he will miss…

______________________________

Paris: Comment vas-tu?
Me: *shrug*
Paris: Ha! I got you to respond to something in French.
Me: But did I really answer the question?
Paris: Do you ever really answer that question?
Me: No. To answer truthfully would be to never finish answering.
Paris: C’est la vie.
Me: What’s that? You know I can’t understand you when you mumble.
Paris: *laughs* I just have to know–what would you do if I really was French?
Me: Cry? No. I’d tell Mike to schedule us so that we’d never cross paths and risk creating a hostile work environment.
Paris: *laughing again* I give up.
Me: Aha, so you are French…
Paris: Ooh, touché.
Me: *inarticulate noise of rage*
Paris: *does a ridiculous Pepé Le Pew laugh*
Me: …I suppose we could say that I let you have the last laugh here.

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