human barometer

I do not believe this.
Now I have a baromatic pressure migraine.
My head wants to explode. My sinuses are swollen and throbbing. My eyeballs hurt. I keep getting flashes of light out of the corners of my eyes. Everything above my shoulders hurts violently. I want to either fall over or die.

And it's only Tuesday.

Why can't it just rain already?

I'd join. Yes.

http://community.livejournal.com/metaquotes/5997967.html
Except that I'd have to admit I have a book problem. Which I don't. No. Not at all. The eleven million books all over my house say I don't. I'm not addicted to reading, damn you.
Shut up, I have to finish this chapter. Yes, I know my lunch hour is over.

You know it's bad when the one thing you must absolutely have in your purse is a paperback book -- and you only buy purses that will accomodate paperback books of any size regardless of anything else, and if you don't have a book with you at all times, you feel sad and lonely and wonder what you're going to do while waiting for the bus/train/friend's car. Once, Adam and some friends took me out to a bar, and I spent the whole time sitting on a stool in a far corner, reading a science fiction novel. In high school, I was "the girl with the paperback fiction book in her backpack" or sitting in the library for hours. I get depressed without a book nearby.
When I was a kid, my mother made me stop buying so many books and tried to get me to actually socialize instead of bringing a book along with me to places.
But I do NOT have a problem.
Nope.

explode

The migraine got much worse once I was home. After lying in bed for half an hour, I stumbled down to the living room to get two Advil tablets, then realized I couldn't make it back up the stairs. I dragged myself back to the living room. Adam was lying on the long couch, so I collapsed in one of the reclining rocking armchairs and shut my eyes. After some time, I felt Adam pull me off the chair. I slid, boneless, to the floor. He picked me up and put me on the couch. He curled up with me and held me close and began to hum in my ear, rocking me. I was sobbing in pain at that point. Adam started massaging knots out of the beck of my neck, which produced a fascinating sound from me -- a high pitched keening noise that erupted in a wild shriek and then a full throated scream. Adam kept his hand on my neck and did some Reiki, then sat up. He removed my shoes, covered me with a blanket, and put pillows under my head. My eyes were still closed. I was gasping. I couldn't move. He left the room. I heard him come back, and he slid a cold pillow under my neck. It felt like heaven. I groaned. He kissed me and told me it had been in the freezer -- it was a giant, cloth-covered ice pack for just this purpose. I lay like that for a while. At some point he removed the ice pillow to cover my eyes and sinuses, then moved it back behind my neck.
An hour and a half later, around eight, I finally recovered. The pain vanished. Adam put the ice pack back in the freezer. I went upstairs to clean out the cat box that we had moved to the bathroom. I accidentally spilled some of the litter while emptying the sifter tray into the trash can (it's a three-tray sifter litter box). Adam had to help me vacuum, sweep, then mop the entire bathroom. We wound up just cleaning and sterilizing everything in there: floor, tub,toilet, sink. I should now be able to take a shower, now that the Pine Sol has effectively done its job. The smell should be gone, with the fan on and the door open. The cats have taken to using the larger litter box downstairs for the time being, since they don't want to go into the bathroom with the Pine Sol smell (Charlotte, over the phone, reassured me that she often cleaned with Pine Sol and her cats avoided the areas until the smell disappeared, but I still worry. It's Pine Sol, after all).
Also? Our laundry detergent container tried to commit suicide. Adam had bought a giant rectangular container with a tap, that contained enough detergent for almost a hundred loads of laundry. It had been sitting on the wide shelf just above the washing machine. Adam and Dan had been in the kitchen, and they saw this massive rectangular jug that had not even been used yet, weighing many many pounds, leap off the wide shelf and crash down on the washing machine, spilling detergent all over. It was all cleaned up, but... we still have no idea how in hell the container could have possibly fallen off the shelf. There was just no physical way. This must mean, obviously, that we have a poltergeist. Or something.

Luckily? My head is still better.
I'm going to my shower now.