Migraines suck.
It has been a shitty day here, and my head likes to celebrate shitty days by trying to kill me. Because, really? What better finale could there possibly be?
It’s like the fireworks display on the 4th of July . . .
“There’s some shit. And more explosions of shit. And ooooooh . . . more giant explosions of shit! YAY! This shit is so horrific! Look! More shit! This shit is raining down everywhere!”
And then your brain is numbed to the horror of the exploding shit, and you just sit quietly as the shit sparkles down on you from above. And you think, “OK, that’s not so bad. Look at me! I am dealing with explosions of shit here, and it’s not that bad. I am all strong and powerful!”
And then the shit in your brain begins to explode. A huge sizzling fireworks finale of death and destruction! YAY!
And shit exploding in your brain?
That shit hurts.
So I went to bed for a while.
Now that I am coherent again?
Except not really?
Here I am.
Hey, you.
It occurs to me at this moment? That if I had not committed myself to posting every day? I would be much better able to manage the impression you are forming of me. I could just be silent today, and you could imagine that I am out horseback riding! Or making a papier mache piñata!
Or having sex in a hammock.
Yes, you could imagine that I am just too busy with happy other things!
Maybe I need to shut the fuck up once in a while.
Fuck.
My head hurts.
Hammock.
You want to know my best moment ever in a hammock?
It was in Hawaii.
Maj was four and Kallan was two. We were walking along the beach after dinner, headed back to our hotel. The air was warm and filled with the rich heavy scent of plumeria.
Those waxy white flowers, with their heady scent and thick sensual velvet petals . . .
I am not a flower person, but that vacation? Is flower-scented in my memory.
We are walking along the beach. The ocean is gentle in the background. And the sand below our feet is filled with sparkling blue bits of fluorescence. At first, it’s like an illusion . . . how could the sand be glowing blue-green in the darkness? We all bend to scoop up sand and inspect the bits of captured light.
And the light is real.
Some phosphorescent something has broken up out there in the watery massive darkness and has washed ashore in a million miniature nighttime phantom sandy stars.
Blue-green stars below our feet.
And we continue our journey, over these fallen bits of sky that are not sky.
The girls are tired. Not crabby tired, but lovely tired, in that rosy-cheeked, soft, and agreeable way that small children occasionally are. Maj spots an empty hammock and asks if we can rest for a minute.
And so we do.
All four of us lie together in the hammock and stare up at the sky.
Kallan, then me, then Maj, and then Mark.
We all fall together a bit as the hammock curves below us, and we are all contact and warmth and love.
Mark reaches back above Maj’s head to hold my hand, and we stare up at the sky.
The nighttime sky seems to lower itself to meet our bodies. I feel as though I might reach up and tuck the night around us like a blanket. A shimmering velvety blue-black blanket. And the stars? Seem as easily reachable as the sand had been below our feet a few moments before.
As though the stars might be held in my hand for a moment and examined.
And then blown like dust across the beach.
Mark reaches down with a foot to set the hammock in motion, and we rock. Gently.
With the gentle ocean in the background.
And our warm sleepy children so close I can feel the heartbeat of one and the breath of the other.
And Mark’s hand in mine.
And the scent of plumeria.
A magic moment.
So for today?
Imagine that I have been in that hammock.
Instead of where I was.
A place less pleasant.
Love you.
It’s a good thing that you’re such a terrible writer.
Or else I would have to quit writing altogether.
Whew!
I would hate to be the one who cost the world more Nigel.
Whew!
I’m sure the world could do with a little less me and survive just nicely.
Maybe it’s just my small corner that would be darker for your absence, then.
Well, that’s just silly: you’ll always have a little Nigel birdhouse in your soul over there.
You need to be careful. You are all mushy lately.
People will note the absence of snark and begin to wonder about the two of us.
I contain multitudes.
So fuck them if they can’t get over it.
I do love you.
Back atcha, babe.
favorite they might be giants song ever…
I have no hammock memories.
None.
Frick.
Just when I thought I had my life together.
Yes.
You need to get on that.
Yes yes. Make hammock memories. You get on that quickly!
Hee hee!
You are perfect. Just perfect.
I hope the migraine packs up and heads out soon.
They are hideous.
Love you!
I am not the least bit perfect.
But I have small perfect bits of memory.
And those are helpful.
what a lovely memory to hold. i am so glad that we have survived through childhood madness to be somewhat sane women and mothers of awesome kids. i am sending a virtual migraine sucker dog your way.
Somewhat sane is all I need.
Sigh.
I will call you in a minute.
Real life sister who is also . . . somewhat sane.
Absolutely poetic…..You are AWESOME Kris!
Thanks, you.
That is lovely to hear.
Mmmmmm…I love that smell of Hawaii. I also love how your writing makes me have such vivid pictures in my mind. Hope your head is better soon.
At the moment?
The pain is ebbing.
I have much hope the tide continues to go out.
But I expect more surges.
That will suck.
Migraines inspire greatness from you.
From me?
Vomit.
I hope you are feeling better.
I get them too, Now with added visual disturbances!, they are a big fat Cheap Trick Live at the Budokan Ted Nugent Wango Tango Stranglehold Curtis Mayfield Pusherman King Hell Bitch ball of suck.
Word.
Rene
I also have vomit.
Chose to leave that scent out of the story today. But it was there.
I prefer the imagined scent of plumeria.
Word.
Shit explosions all day and this is what you come up with? Beautiful imagery? Hawaii?
I had a decent day and cannot think of a single goddamn thing to write about except organizing shit at Wal-Mart out of my own obsessive-compulsive needs.
You are amazing.
I wrote the beginning of this post and then just sat there and stared at the screen for a while with nowhere to go.
Went back and re-read my words. Stared. And then focused on hammock.
And wrote that word . . . hammock.
And then the rest flowed.
It flowed beautifully. Hope you are feeling better today.
Love.
Thanks, you.
well.
i’ve had a pretty good day.
and i can’t think of shit to write about.
but you?
almost make me cry.
what a beautiful memory.
If it makes you feel any better?
There were tears here as I wrote it.
Migraines make me weak.
I’m glad you had such a lovely day in a hammock.
I hope tomorrow is that lovely for real, and the pain leaves you alone and there are no more explosions.
No one likes head explosions.
Love you.
Love you.
I could use a good day, so here’s hoping tomorrow is one of those.
Thank you.
As far as I am concerned, this is your best post ever. I love it so much. I love how you imagined yourself back in paradise and how beautifully you described it.
I am including you in my post tomorrow because it dovetails beautifully with my topic of positive denial.
Love you back!
My best post ever?
I will have to read it again when I am feeling better.
Really?
Thank you.
Migraines truly fucking suck. I usually get them when I’m exhausted, have grouchy kids, & have a massive homework assignment that *must* be done immediately. Because of course I can think rationally & compose a research paper with shit exploding out of my head. *sigh*
I have to say tho, I got a mental image of you (my imagined you, since I don’t know what you look like) having sex in a hammock….and I kept getting hung up on the logistics of that. In my mental image? The hammock kept turning & flipping you guys out of the hammock mid-sex.
I don’t think I’ve mastered hammock physics. It’s a miracle if I can get into one without personal injury.
Migraines for me?
Come with stress, of which there has been an abundance the last several days. Culminating in an amazingly shitty morning.
And then I fell over.
Sigh.
As for the hammock sex?
The trick is quiet and gentle.
Not a big trick.
Just small movements.
Repeated with quiet intensity.
Mine are usually fucked up sleep patterns, caffeine withdrawal, and stress.
I do hope your stress abates. I hate stress.
…and the explanation of the hammock sex? Has replaced the somewhat amusing (altho not satisfying) vision, with a curiously tingly feeling that is motivating me to go buy a hammock. Immediately.
Thanks for the lovely well-wishes.
That curious tingly feeling?
Go with that.
Way fun.
so I was totes gonna make a dirty sex in a hammock joke. but then you told your scrumptious hammock moment story. which made me feel all gooey inside (childless people rarely feel gooey). and so you thwarted my joke! thwarted it! *sigh*
it’s okay. your story was infinitely better than my dirty joke.
also: headaches suck balls. I know. only way to survive is hunker down and hope your head doesn’t explode.
feel better soon!
I am not so much a gooey person, so if I have to feel gooey?
I am glad that I could share the mess.
And headaches suck balls.
Donkey balls.
At least.
donkey balls. hah! stealing that.
I don’t believe that phrase originated with me.
So steal away!
The fact that you can write with such beautiful inspiration while suffering from mind numbing pain?
Very impressive.
I can imagine our family attempting this, being close to the same ages as your girls. It’s really too bad Ryker’s such a little tornado. Perhaps if we tie him to the tree with extra rope from the hammock, then the rest of us can enjoy a gentle rock…
This moment only occurred because of the sleepiness of the girls.
A hammock is not a fun place to share with two rambunctious wakeful children.
Restraints would have been required.
And that would have been a different sort of memory altogether.
Hee hee!
jesus. i guess i’ll have to reconsider my position that hammocks are overrated.
Yes.
You do.