Pad My Walls

I've got the crazies tonight. The pain was mostly gone today, but all the other fucked up shit diminutively classified as "aura" rendered me insane. It's so strange that when I get like this I can write. I can do a number of other random things quite well, too. Hopefully tomorrow I won't discover that I destroyed, offended, or bankrupted anyone, but I think I got a lot of work done. Walking the dog, I was ready to chainsaw the trees after 30 seconds of the cicadas. I hate the fucking cicadas. Crickets chirp; cicadas scream like electronics, but they ebb and swell so you can't forget they're there, vibrating at the frequency of your skull.

So I thought I was hungry. I'd been munching snap peas all afternoon, but perhaps red meat would cure my homicidal crankiness. I browned ground beef, planning to add one of the Trader Joe's Indian eggplant pouch things as an instant, no-thought sauce, but then I found a can of ranchero something soup with a recipe that sounded good and we had all the ingredients. So instead of three minutes and my nice fake Indian weird beef thing, it was 30 minutes for my fake Mexican weird beef thing. When it was done, I opened the oven and grabbed at the metal without thinking--no oven mitt. I can write but I can't use a stove.
Oven hot. No touch. Four-year-olds understand this. I'm alternating typing and icing my pointer finger.

Possible Boy and I had talked about seeing a movie tonight. At some point this afternoon I considered inviting him over to watch a movie, or doing some quiet but still social activity with him. Then I stand up and everything is wooziness and I try doing basic household crap and realize how scary I look. I don't want to hide all the time and only see friends when I'm glowing, but the bad stuff is easier to ride out quietly at home where I don't have to consider the variables. I'm not sure how to maintain friendships this way, but tonight I'm curled up afraid of myself and still trying to figure out how to get back to my parents' house to help out as soon as possible.
Cancer trumps migraine. Cancer kills.