Party on, Garth!

I've always had a hard time explaining things, for whatever reason. Namely, the fear that I could have a more useful, satisfying discussion about manifest destiny and the philosophy of life itself, and the secrets of the universe, with a brick wall. This is, of course, a positively dreadful way to enter a conversation: "This is going to suck." So I either get really blunt and then it's all sorts of ugly and awkward, or I start accidentally adding so many layers that after a while, I'm frustrated and feel like screaming!, and absolutely nothing gets done. Let's see if I can explain epilepsy in a way that I would use talking to friends. There is... And 30 seconds after I wondered about what in hades this ad was for, it came to me...selling Mini Coopers... an ad where two guys are crossing the desert. They're hot, sticky, sunburned, dying of thirst, and come across loud music and a festive atmosphere, and P Diddy himself. One guy wants to stay and party, the other is quite sure it's a cruel trick, even after it becomes apparent that P Diddy and his friends apparently decided that the Sahara was the perfect place for a bash. That's... Kind of what it's like on a bad day. You're crawling in the blazing hot sand, and have passed about five beautiful angels, all holding a golden thimble of the freshest, purest water, from the most beautiful artisanal well on earth. You go to them, tug on the hems of their tunics, to no avail. Some don't want to be touched, lest you spoil them. Some disappear completely, leaving mocking laughter. Some transform into strange demonic hell beasts and tell you that you're not worth anything. But you keep on. And what to your wondering, tear-swollen, sandy eyes doth appear? A group of Mini convertibles, and music, and all the water and food you could ever want... Take, eat, drink, you will be sated, a soft pillow will cradle your head. And P Diddy is there. And he's beckoning. But there's these two guys ahead of you, looking in on these same delights, and fighting over whether it's a mirage, a mean trick. somedays, you manage to crawl as fast as your bruised and abraded elbows will let you, right past them. And it is paradise, even though you're tired, so tired. Everyone is kind and lets you rest until you can party on, Garth*! On bad days, the very bad ones, the two idiots in front of you turn on you and attack you for daring to believe. How dare you? You're going to die just the same, you idiot! They were right about you! You're wrong and unnatural, and even if it was real, "they'd" know, and no one would want you around. That's... That's the best explanation I can come up with. I'm aware that it's probably as clear as mud in a champagne flute. *For younger readers, 1) Hi, kids! Do your chores. 2)Wayne's World is not in the same category as Citizen Kane, or Gone With the Wind. It's something special, and it should be watched and enjoyed by everyone, at least once. :)

Its Name is Robert Paulsen, Its Name is Robert Paulsen

When you don't know what's going on with you, and you can feel your body attacking itself, and your emotions running wild, it's very easy to become anxious, to fear the shadows.

Finally, after so many exercises in frustration, in banging my head against brick walls at the neurologist's, and tests just going nowhere, I decided I'd draw a little road map. I knew I'd have to allow for pain and for my head to be grabbed, twisted and torqued each which way, but, in the penumbra days, when the pain isn't so bad, but I can point out the locations by touch, I made a model using a free service for a 3D realistic paper skull decoration. (I also almost ordered a skull coffee cup and still might, but that's just me being me.)

The first arrow at the left shows the pain creeping in. If you hold your left index finger up at your left eye, at an angle, you should be able to occlude your vision but still see a little, with a sort of "aura"... sort of like a partial lunar eclipse. I try to time my Imitrex injections before I see the eclipse, but it can happen pretty fast. Then, if you think storm cloud, the pain will move from the left temple, drifting over into the right. At about this time, I'll feel a bit like someone is having a rather festive party inside my brain, with fireworks, and Uncle Screwtape playing an extended drum solo,  while in the area where my spinal cord attaches to my brain, it's about the same as the temples.

There will be tests for MS and arteriosclerosis. The latter usually doesn't show up until you're in you're 60's, so I'm kind of letting it go. I refuse to consult good ol' Dr. Google. The doctors now think my symptoms, besides headaches, are part of a bigger puzzle, and are fitting in pieces. I have a spectral shadow to deal with. I am scared, yes. Very scared. So I named my shadow. Its name is Robert Paulsen. He looks like Meatloaf, he'll do anything for love, but he won't do that, that is just unspeakable! Now that the shadow has a name and a face, I'm not so frightened. It's how I beat my fright. I laugh at it.