I’ve had migraine headaches since I was 12 years old. I’ve been to GPs, neurologists, ERs, and just about every other doctor you can imagine in search of some kind of answer to why I have these headaches and what can be done about them. For quite a few years I took a low dose of Toprol XL every morning for migraine prevention. I still got them, but perhaps not as frequently? Now that I no longer take the medicine, it’s hard to tell. But since it’s springtime and pollen is in the air, the headaches come much more frequently. The problem with that is that my “headaches” rarely remain just headaches. They snowball into migraines.

When I was a teenager, I also tried Elavil as a migraine preventative. For one reason or another, that didn’t last. I actually remember sitting in chorus class after I decided to come off the medication cold turkey. I think I was too young to understand the concept of side effects at that point. I scratched my itchy hands so much that they bled. Oops.

Since then, the docs have prescribed a few migraine/pain meds for me. Imitrex, of course, which doesn’t work on every migraine. They don’t work on mine, which is par for the course. Then we tried Midrin, which was a godsend for a couple/few years. Then it started to make me belch. Constantly. And when I’d belch, it would be the awful, plasticky, chemical taste of the pills coming back up. Ugh. I can’t take a horribly upset stomach on top of headache pain.

That’s about when I came home 2 summers ago with the worst migraine of my life. I was inches away from calling my mother to drive me to the ER when I thought to call my doctor’s practice’s answering service. It was about ten at night, so I knew someone would be on call, and there was a chance that it would be my doctor. Lo and behold, it was. He called back in fifteen minutes and after I described how my head felt, he called me in a prescription for Vicodin. Told me to take two, lie down, and if the pain didn’t subside, to take another in an hour. If it didn’t help at that point, I was to go to the ER.

It helped. Massively. Since that night, Vicodin has been the only thing to thoroughly vanquish my migraines. It leaves me miraculously pain-free. It makes me feel padded and velvety and alive again.

Oftentimes, when a headache starts and I suspect that it will turn into a migraine, I take what I call my “cocktail”: one Tylenol, one Tylenol Allergy Sinus, and one Advil. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t. …Most often, it doesn’t. And I just learn to deal with the pain. Because for as much as I’ve talked about drugs in this post, I truly don’t take many pills. I don’t like to. My physician will write me a prescription for 15 Vicodin and put a refill on it that expires in 4 months, and I’ll never get it refilled. By the time I need more pills, the refill has long expired. I don’t take Tylenol often at all, especially the allergy-sinus kind, because I know it causes rebound headaches.

Yesterday, around 2pm while I was in Atlanta, I started getting a headache. I had a bad feeling about it. Around 6pm while we were driving home, I stopped at the gas station and downed a BC powder. That took the edge off for about an hour. But by the time I laid down to go to bed at 11pm last night, I could barely breathe I was in such pain. I had resisted and resisted and resisted earlier, but now the pain was unbearable. With two Vicodin left and an expired refill on the bottle, I thought I should save them… but there are times when there is no question in my mind as to what I need to do, and last night was one of those times. Two Vicodin and twenty minutes later, I was drifting off toward a blissful, soft sleep.

I made Rick stay on the phone with me last night after I took my pills and laid down. I’ve always told him to never ever leave me alone when I have a headache that bad. My grandmother died of a brain aneurysm, and that, coupled with the fact that in 18 years no one’s ever found a cause for my migraines, makes me freak out a bit when I’m in dire pain.

But this morning I am glorious and soft and wonderfully relaxed. There is a complete absence of pain, which is a beautifully surreal feeling. It’s been a week or so since I’ve felt that. So I guess this morning, what I’m saying is… Thank you, Vicodin.  Good god, I love you.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I’ll head down the mountain to pick up my friend Tara and head even further down the mountain to Atlanta.  The land of Korean raspberry brandy wine and denjjang chigae.  This is the last time either of us will be able to go before I move to the Great White North, and I really need a Korea fix before I go.  I’ve checked out a few Boston-area Korean markets and restaurants on yelp.com, so I’m hopeful, but I’m going to stop up on non-perishables while we’re in Atlanta tomorrow just in case.  I truly don’t have the money to go, but I will somehow make it stretch.

If Buford Highway is the end all be all of Korean goodness in Atlanta, then the Buford Highway Farmer’s Market is it’s capital.  That’s likely where we’ll spend most of our time, in a Sam’s Club sized grocery store stocked to the gills with Asian (and Mexican) peculiarities.  There is not enough money nor enough hours in the day to genuinely spend all the cash and time I’d like to in there.  Heaven.  Pure heaven.

Our schedule is usually the same every time we go.  We’ll arrive in Atlanta and immediately stuff ourselves silly on bowl after bowl of panchan.  I’ll devour a bowl of denjjang chigae and bowl or two of rice while Tara does the same to kimchee chigae.  Blood soup, I call it, as it’s an astonishingly red color.  Okay, okay, I know it doesn’t actually look like blood.  It’s too orangey for that.  I just like to make fun.  I’ll smoke half a pack of cigarettes trying to make the massive amount of food I just ate digest, and then we’ll be off to the Farmer’s Market.

After a couple hours we’ll spend there, we’ll head on down the road to Asian Square to peruse a cd store, make fun of the “hot wing” sign, and grab some bubble tea.  The saddest thing about this trip is that I have heard our favorite Chinese bun shop has closed.  I don’t know of anywhere else in Atlanta to get buns this good, and that is a sad, sad thing, my friend.  A trip to ATL won’t feel like a trip to ATL without those buns.

But the good is that we get to do all the other things we normally do, and Cho Sun Ok is the kick-assin-est Korean joint I’ve ever been to.  I’ve visited Korean restaurants in Baltimore, New Orleans, Greenville, you name it.  Cho Sun Ok in Atlanta is by far the best.  ….Of course, I’m white.  So… yeah.

I will take plenty of photos, and perhaps I’ll have some to show when I post again.  Hurrah!

What better thing to do at 7pm on a Sunday night than contemplate the best way to weasel out of jury duty tomorrow? After much deliberation, my options are as follows:

• Show up with unwashed hair, wearing a broomstick skirt, tanktop sans bra, and no deodorant
• Clutch a bible the entire time
• Paint a swastika on my forehead
• Simply quote Pablo Francisco - “I don’t like blacks, Mexicans, or Chinese people!”

Someone commented on a Livejournal snippet I posted regarding my reluctance to report for duty. I quoted a bit straight from the Buncombe County government website:

North Carolina General Statute Chapter 9-13 states that any person summoned for jury service who fails to appear as directed and attend until duly discharged is subject to a maximum fine of $50.00.

To me, that fine is almost worth it. I mentioned to Rick that I should just print out that little paragraph, underline the words “maximum fine”, and mail it in with a money order for $30. But anyway. My friend asked me why I wouldn’t want to go. I replied and asked why I would. So I can spend the $12 that I’ll make for the day on gas to and from the courthouse? So I can sit in a stuffy, smelly, unventilated room with tens of other people who are waiting to be quizzed about their impartiality? Ohhhh no no, I’ve got it. So I can be part of an ever so fair and unprejudiced judiciary system in a country I abhor. That must be it.

In a word, no. I have no desire to sit on a jury and listen to someone else’s drama. That’s pretty much all I’ve done for the past two weeks.  I realize that I likely have a highly unpopular opinion here, but we all know what opinions are like. Assholes, baby, and I sure as hell have one of those.

…I wanted to write a bit more about my weekend, as Christina came to visit me, but I don’t think tonight is the night.

Today is Friday, and there are a few things swirling in my head. My dear wonderful friend Christina is visiting me this weekend, and I’d wager that much food and alcohol will be involved in her visit. Also much cleaning on my part, although I haven’t quite found my motivation for undertaking that particular task. With the impending move to Boston I think I’m much more likely to strike a match at the end of the first week in June as opposed to actually clean.

Also, tomorrow is Gary’s birthday! I’d hoped we’d all be able to get together and celebrate, but I don’t think he’s too sure about what he’d like to do. Shopping for the man is next to impossible, as he’s the type to simply go out and buy whatever he wants when he wants it. Thank goodness for gift certificates, else I’d be buying him toasters and such.

Louie has sent me a copy of The World Ends With You for DS, and it should arrive Tuesday! I must say that I am quite lucky to have friends who work for the likes of Square-Enix, Turbine, and Geico. Very cool indeed. I’m excited to get my hands on the game and give it a whirl! I’m still playing the infamous Animal Crossing every night before I go to bed, and I’ve been dabbling a bit in Crisis Core as well. That’s a tough one for me to swallow though, as I’m a rabid FF7 storyline fan and more often that not I get quite choked up during gameplay. Lame, I know. But I played FF7 during a really memorable, pivotal point in my life, and it was a fairy tale that really cemented it’s place into my heart.

***

I spend a lot of time at my mother’s house. She and my father live pretty much directly across the street from me, and since I have a strong aversion to dish-washing I often cook at their house for the three of us. They have this really grand azalea bush outside the kitchen window. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, and it’s been huge for as long as I can remember. It’s one of the many things I love about their house that I love and will miss once I’m in Boston.

Last summer I managed to plant a bit on my own, actually. A Beauty of Moscow lilac, a Japanese pieris, some lavender, and an Endless Summer hydrangea. Out of all those plants, the only one that managed to really thrive was the lilac. Lilacs are my favorite flower in the world, and once I finally settle into a house I want an entire garden of lilac bushes. I want the scent so strong that I’ll never want to burn another candle or use another spray of air freshener; all I’ll have to do is open the window and let that beautiful scent float in on the breeze.

Mom & dad aren’t really gardeners. Actually, for me to even say that they’re “not really gardeners” is a gross overstatement. Ok, no. Let me correct myself again. My mother could kill a plastic fern. My father, while not a flower expert, can grow vegetables in sand. Without water. Or sunlight. He neglected to plant anything this year, but I remember eating tomatoes and cucumbers out of his garden for years, and they were always so so good. I’m really looking forward to the farmshare Rick bought for me this summer. We’ll get 12-20 pounds of fresh fruits, herbs, and vegetables every week for 22 weeks. I’ll be in heaven, I tell you, heaven!

As I was leaving my mom’s house today, I picked up my chihuahua, Maya, and gave her a big smooch on the cheek… only to be greeted with that classic “Hi mom, I rolled in something!” smell. Ugh. I know that scent well. Every year when spring rolls around she inevitably finds something deliciously foul in my mother’s yard to rub her face into. I was going to let it slide, but the more I sniffed her the worse it got. Into the tub she went for her first bath of the season!

She’s currently sleeping on a fluffy purple pillow on my futon, letting the spring breeze from the window above dry her off. There’s nothing in the world sweeter than a sleepy puppy.

I had another dream last night, this time about J-Rocker Kyo, from the band Dir en Grey. A bit bizarre, as I haven’t listened to them in a while. Nevertheless, he managed to worm his way into my head some way or another. We were at some sort of convention, I believe, and I was supposed to be introduced to some guy that was wearing authentic, designer-label Japanese clothing. The guy was a real goofball… skinny, buck-teeth, messy short hair… but he did have some really cool threads on. It didn’t take too long for me to realize, though, that Kyo was completely and utterly pissed. Drunk, not mad.

Somehow it fell upon me to take care of him. We wound up in a huge elevator, akin to the staff elevators in hospitals. Large, echoing, and aesthetically unpleasing. Not to mention with the little upraised star patterns on the metal floors. Kyo didn’t care, though. Too busy writhing around on said floor to worry about the ambiance of the elevator. I found a yellow bucket for him to vomit in, exactly like the ones Jon & Kate gave their kids to yakk in when they got the stomach flu.

I don’t really remember how the dream ended, as I was woken up this morning. Odd, no? Two days in a row I’m woken up by someone and don’t get to finish my dream. Although, I’ll be honest… it could have been earlier in the night when I dreamed this, when I woke up having to pee really bad. At least I didn’t wake up having to vomit, like Kyo. I was a little worried after leaving half of my bean burger in the hot car for a couple of hours yesterday. I ate it for dinner last night. :X

I still have 6 eggrolls left over from the large batch I made on… Monday? Saturday? I can’t remember what day it was. They’re in the freezer, unfried. And technically, they’re not eggrolls. I use spring roll wrappers since I’m vegan. They generally take me a couple of hours to make, as I make them from nearly completely from scratch. The only thing I don’t do myself is make the actual wrappers. Well, and the tofu. Hah!

Rick asked me how the eggrolls were, only about an hour after I mentioned to him “brb, gonna make eggrolls”. I chuckled a bit and let him know that I was still making them. That confused him a bit. He apparently thought I was… nuking them in the microwave? I told him that I made them all from scratch, to which he replied “Ohhh. …Man, I’m a lucky guy”.

I like to pretend to gracefully accept compliments like that, or even to kick the dirt a bit and disagree. But I secretly eat them up. I devour them. I love it when he fawns over me. I hope that my cheeks always round and my heart always swells when he strokes my ego, because it’s an awesome feeling.