and then it was 2008

I spent New Years in a ballgown* in the international terminal of O'Hare airport. On purpose.

After three weeks with his girlfriend in Florida, NBF's flight was scheduled to arrive at 11:25 PM on New Years Eve. Had I not seen the sign for the airlines when I dropped him off, I wouldn't have believed his domestic flight was really going in and out of the international terminal or that this "discount carrier" actually existed.
With all my recent migraine hell, I wasn't going to make any big booming New Years plans, and my one other big non-booming NYE possibility fell through, so I agreed to pick up NBF so long as I was physically capable of driving. A week of my family mostly behaving themselves and then an energy jolt from being back at my apartment again put me on enough of an upswing that I even drove to Target in a snow storm hoping they had better evening gloves.
I put on my funky Jessica McClintock ballgown and did my hair and make-up and packed a bag with:

• cheap champagne flutes and cheap champagne to match
• sparkling blood orange cranberry juice for my new booze-free self
• marijuana as my partying alternative, packed neatly into my first aid kit because I think it's both appropriate and funny
• cherries, because I had them in the fridge and they were portable and delicious
• these Trader Joe's raspberry brie filo appetizer things that taught me 1) my oven has no temperature numbers on its knob 2) it still works and 3) so does my smoke detector.

I checked Imaginary Airline's Website before I left and discovered NBF's flight now wasn't getting in until 12:12 AM, so I took my time. My dress fell all the way to the floor and I thought about wearing my best snow boots, but ended up in my black dress boots as a compromise between form and function. I drove through what was crappy driving weather, but I was in no hurry and my new car is super comfortable with its seat warmers and anti-lock breaks and Garrison Keillor the radio and hardly any other cars on the road and everything so beautiful and still and white. I could have been miserable and cranky, but instead it was one of those strange moments of pure joy where you just have to laugh at the beauty and perfection and ridiculousness of it all.**
Garrison and I counted down at midnight on the exit ramp to Terminal 5. In a ballgown. In the snow.
Terminal 5 parking is entirely outdoors. I found a spot right by the entrance, grabbed the champagne and food, lifted my dress above the sludge, and went in.
The terminal was warm and almost empty. I put my coat and purse and food down on some seats near the middle and wandered back and forth within 20 feet of my little "base camp." The monitor still said the flight was due in at 12:12. A man slept on a few seats nearby. I wondered if he'd missed the new year. A man and a woman stared at me. I smiled. After all, I was wearing a ballgown. Another man walking passed, also staring, said, "I'm sure whoever you're here to meet will be very happy; you look wonderful." I thanked him. I wanted to say, "Yeah, and the dickwad isn't even my boyfriend!" but I didn't.
I called my parents to wish them the obligatory Happy New Year. They were having fun with their annual party and my dad as drunk as he ever gets. We hung up and it was 12:24. I noticed a bunch of people over beyond where the bar was. I thought it was just restrooms back there and the bar was closed, but maybe there was something going on. A champagne toast? People coming out of the flight?
I picked up my stuff and walked over. Heads turned. I felt like a warped version of Cinderella walking into the ball, except this turned out to be a solitary "domestic baggage claim" in the international terminal and the closest thing to Prince Charming didn't even notice until I was right next to him.
We waited at least half an hour for the bags to come out. Another hour driving home in the snow, counting down with NPR to New Years on the west coast. Then I ate all but one of the brie things, we drank our respective sparkling beverages, smoked a bowl, and he and the dog fell asleep while I lay awake and convinced myself I knew what he was thinking and overthought every turn of his head and move of his arm for at least an hour before finally passing out myself.



*Ballgown is now one word because I think it should be.
**C.S. Lewis talks about those a lot in the appropriately titled Surprised By Joy. They're like microbursts of happiness. When I try to explain them, some people know exactly what I'm talking about, some smile and nod, and others think I'm crazy. I consider them much more logical than and a welcome balance to bouts of depression and sadness. Why is unprovoked sadness common but unprovoked happiness crazy?

acupunctuation

Yesterday, I had my acu punctured. I left feeling pretty good (although still with the pain hanging out behind my left eye) and felt like crap again by the time I got home.
The experience itself was very strange. When I arrived they offered me tea while I filled out their version of a medical history form. I chose a peppermint herbal (I think they were all herbal) and answered the standard doctor questions about my immediate family's medical history (did/does anyone have diabetes? hear disease? cancer?) plus some new ones (gout? insanity?) and some extremely personal questions about my bodily functions (how many days do your periods last? is the blood ever brown? dark purple? clumpy?)
My acupuncturist was this small (well, bigger than me, but small by normal standards) Chinese woman who was like a dense tight ball of energy on fast-forward. Her English wasn't great, but she explained to me that I have both an overall deficiency in qi but an overabundance of qi in some areas, and most of my problem areas are linked to my gall bladder. I need to eat a pound and a half of fruits and vegetables (she didn't specify how often and I didn't ask because odds are good I can maybe up my veggie intake to a pound and a half a month) and avoid spicy foods because my central energy fire is too hot and rising up and that's why I have all the pain in my neck and head. Right. I don't know about the whole energy fire thing, but it doesn't hurt to avoid spicy foods and see if that helps, since that's one thing I haven't tried diet-wise.*
As I've mentioned before, I hate needles. Hate hate hate. And it's not the pain, since a needle bothers me as much in someone else's skin as it does my own. It's the cutting of skin thing that generally wigs me out. But the acupuncturist didn't put any needles in my head ("not for first time, next time") and my glasses were off so I couldn't see it, and she also said "breathe in, breathe out" every time she poked me. The strangest part of the whole experience was when some of the needles hit, it felt like things were moving around in other parts of my body. A needle on my calf (I think it was my calf) had something crawling up the left side of my spine. And the one needle that hurt the most (the others were a pinch at the worst) had my migraine pain, which was at that point hanging out in a lump at the bottom of the back of my head, unmistakably float up to the top of my head, like it had been filled with helium. Unfortunately, it stayed at the top of my head instead of going the fuck away. My acupuncturist said that, for a life-long problem, it will take more than one session of acupuncture to fully realign my qi.
She also did "cupping," which is completely bizarre but actually feels good. Basically, she stuck a bunch of 2" diameter glass suction cup things on my back.
I left feeling better than I had in weeks (save my stoned hours), but still with the pain. So, (sorry E) $40, I now have more pot. I really don't enjoy the inhaling smoke part, but it makes the pain more bearable. I woke up this morning wondering if I could even make it to class, but by 10:30 AM I was back to walloped, and now I've got the damn vibrating neck thing back on and the lights back off and I'm bored and sick of sleeping through my life but it fucking hurts. And the last few days the pain has been more and more light-sensitive and behind my left eye. Maybe I'll start wearing an eyepatch. I'll dress like a pirate while I'm at it, just for kicks. I could use some kicks. In the head.

*I am much better at eliminating things I shouldn't do than adding things I should. Maybe my willpower-qi is lopsided, too.

no silver (or green) bullets

Nope. Extremely disappointed to announce, marijuana is NOT the cure for my migraines. The migraine came back, and there were a few hours today that I couldn't tell if I was still unable to think because of the pot or because of the migraine. Losing each thought as soon as I have it seems to be a symptom of both having a migraine and being stoned.

So my next brilliant idea was to go get a massage. My mother and brother have both gone to physical therapy at this Chicago chain and my mom had mentioned before that they do therapeutic massage, so I went for a therapeutic massage. The guy was kind of odd and very high-strung for a massage therapist, but he was good at the massage part. He didn't get rid of the muscle knots or the migraine, but he loosened things and the migraine was not an issue so long as I was laying in the dark silence being worked on. I just need a full-time live-in masseuse, or maybe to go back (or elsewhere) in a few days and tell them to just get rid of the fucking knots. I don't know. I'm out of ideas again. And I'm bored and lonely, because I can't do anything.

My mom called me this afternoon to see how I was doing and started in on "you should call your doctor and see if you can get in right away" and I snapped at her because it's pretty fucking clear to me at this point that modern medicine hasn't figured migraines out yet and I've tried pretty much everything there is to try and I'm even subjecting myself to guinea pighood and the last thing I want to hear right now is what else I "should" be doing, particularly from a person who is neither an expert nor experiencing it herself, and worst of all is my mother. She was on IM later so I apologized for snapping at her and she actually said (without sarcasm) "Sorry I tried to help! I know I should just tell you I love you and hang up." So I guess she understands and is learning, and that is good.

Remembering and communicating every detail of my life seems to be my main compulsion and driving force. I realized this while stoned. The fact that I couldn't express what I was thinking verbally or in writing was making me nuts. Also, I became aware of my constant judging and rejudging of every thought I have for accuracy, allowability, and admitability. It's pretty crazy and exhausting. I imagine not everyone's brain works this way, and I wonder if I can learn to quiet mine down. Obvious solution: drown myself in marijuana. Obvi.

Will somebody please bring me some pot? The Migranal isn't working and I'm out of options. While I've never been a big fan of The Marajuana, there's a chance it will do the trick, or at least make this more tolerable.