what is wrong & what is right

even in my sleep i could feel the pressure on my eyes. i was aware of the migraine before i even woke up. it bore into my head like some parasite spreading poison. it crept into my dreams: me in black and white, walking down tight dark corridors with a head made of lead, bending and bobbing from its weight on my noodle neck.

i felt the migraine before my alarm clock rang in my ear and i saw stars. before i rolled over in my creaky bed and tried to keep river from waking up too early. there is a wrong side to every bed. my king size bed is pushed up against two walls, so it seems that the only side IS the wrong side. atleast it was today.

my eyes are so puffy, they are nearly sealed shut and i blindly walk down the hall past the bathroom into the kitchen to start a pot of chai. i’m wondering how many excedrin migraines would cause an overdose. i grab a handful and make a silent prayer with my first steaming sip of highly caffeinated black spice tea.

miraculously river is still asleep. i eat some cornflakes and then he appears in the hallway holding his kitty with the shyest of smiles after waking up alone. today is not starting out too well as i close the bathroom door and kneel next to the toilet. damn, someone needs to clean this disgusting toilet. i make a note to self as i throw up my cornflakes. the migraine is winning. it’s pinning me to the floor with its sheer weight. the breath is being squeezed from my lungs. river pushes the door open asking ‘how do you need privacy momma? how is your head in the toilet? that’s gross!’

did i brush my teeth? i hope i did. but regardless of fuzzy teeth and vomit breath, here i am now on the couch, many lifetimes later. i’m upright and not so bleary as river plays with a few pipe cleaners bent and twisted into crudely shaped hearts. i begin to register his words, his creative play that is occurring right next to me…”and then something amazing happened!” he unknowingly narrated the story, my story, to me. he bends the pipe cleaner around the tow truck and revs his throaty engine, pulling that heavy load of heart. he is a kitty now, a tow truck driving kitty. and a girl, always a girl. the truck bumps over the cushions and up onto the armrest dragging a pink and yellow striped heart along with it. “and then something amazing happened! she pulled her heart right out of the mud!”

it’s like some bizzarro world of child’s play. a world of mixed messages, of crossed signals and storylines tucked secretly in the folds of heavy velvet curtains. the world’s a stage for him and i watch, mesmorized by everything he says and does. he’s brilliant. he’s reading my mind. he’s reminding me to stay present. or maybe he’s just playing towtruck driving she-kitty with a few pipe cleaner hearts.

but in this moment of fog lifted, this moment of clarity as the blood in my brain finally pushes through and past the pounding. in this moment i realize that i am ready to set my bags down. one carry-on size piece of luggage at a time. one word, one thought, one memory at a time. i feel them go from me. i release my hand, my grip on them. but they pull and tug and yank the string that binds them to me. and with one last jerk they are finally free. it’s a pop, a sting like static electricity when it catches you by surprise. but when i tilt my head back i can see them lifting one at a time, like balloons rising to the sky. slowly, ever so slowly. up up and away from me. and surprisingly, i feel lighter.

i get up off the couch and dust myself off. it’s time to eat some food. i stand and stretch. creak, moan, grimace.  river hugs me around my knees and declares “you’ve grown, momma!” i’d like to think that he’s right.