You ever get one of those headaches that isn’t so much a headache as a portent of things to come? A pre-migraine is what I always call them, because they tend to foreshadow the clustering pains that take me out of the real world for a day or more.  It’s that lead-up to what feels like might be balls of nuclear waste just behind the wall of my skull, above my left eye — it’s a pain that defies accurate description, as it’s neither sharp nor dull but both and then some.

And now I’m in day two of the pre-game festivities.  I should be thankful that I haven’t gotten a full-blown migraine yet, and that maybe I still won’t, but walking around like this is not a lot of fun.  You’re not quite down enough to rest and/or bury your head under a pillow, but not up enough to care much about anything that you’re doing.

And so, when writing is a chore, you think that, hey — at least no one’s reading this drivel anyway.

There is no wrong way to eat a Rhesus.