An open letter ...

Dear Migraine,

How are you doing these days? I haven't seen you around for a bit, and I can't say I've missed you. I think I was better off when you weren't here. Not only do you make my head hurt like someone's driving an ice pick through my left temple, but you make me sick to my stomach. I applaud your consistency, but you get in the way of things like work and life. And it's getting old.

I've done what I can at the doctor. I guess maybe I need to throw down for an MRI to see if there's some other nefarious cause for you. Yeah, I've still got that Imitrex. But you want to hear something funny? That stuff makes me feel worse than you do. What are the odds?

And yet, I took the Imitrex last night -- against my better judgment -- and was pretty messed up for the rest of the day.

You probably think it's OK to come and go as you please. Three days is definitely enough to wear out the welcome, and you're terrible at getting the hint that I'm sick and tired of you being in my life. Whether it's prescription drugs or the home remedies I've tried, you hide for a bit and then continue your stay.

Take the hint: Fuck off already. I can think of two people you should be with -- CWB or my ex. If you pick CWB, feel free to turn into something vile like chlamydia or genital warts. If you pick my ex, I'd like for you to live in his penis and/or testicles. Because really, who wouldn't want their ex to feel the searing pain of an ice pick to the balls for three days straight?

Still bitter? A little. Tired of the pain in my head? Fuck yes.

Thanks for caring,

Jen