From Migraine to Memory Lane

Woke up this morning with a hella headache. At first I thought it was from the birthday vodka. So I did what I usually do when nursing a hangover headache. I drank some electrolyte water, took a handful of headache medicine, ate a bagel, and went back to bed.

I woke up feeling worse than when I laid down. Plus I was behind on my work. So I forced myself to get up. I did some research for a project that I’m working on. I took Mel to the dentist and the barber where I finished a book I had to read while waiting. And then I came home to work some more.

I still had the damn headache. So I took another handful of ibuprofen and ate a bite of food and continued writing. I felt like I was behind because I have “stuff” to do for the rest of the week.

By time you are reading this (unless you read it when it posts at midnight), I will either be driving to Chattanooga, in Chattanooga, driving back from Chattanooga, or back from Chattanooga. Point is, my morning is filled with Chattanooga. I get to meet one of the people I work for, which is super cool, but it’s taking 5 or so hours out of my day to work. Because I can’t write and drive and I can’t read and drive. I can barely change the radio station without killing everyone. Ask Mel. So I was feeling some pressure about even going because it was going to put me hella behind.

But then, miraculously, my headache went away. I finished two projects. And I didn’t have to stress anymore. I still have one to finish by Friday and my own stuff to work on, but I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. And I’ll be home in time today to continue working. Tomorrow is probably a bust as far as writing goes. I have an appointment in the morning and then I am on kid duty again for the weekend.

I always take my laptop with the intention of writing something, but by time the kids are in bed, even if it’s at 8pm, I’m dead. Like curled up on the couch with my pillow and my gratefulness. I couldn’t open the laptop if I wanted to. And if I did, I would probably just stare blankly at it.

Plus, it’s kind of hard to write porn in a house full of kids. Something about it just feels wrong. Ya know?

So I’m trying to get the rest of my productivity in today, because I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the rest of the weekend may be scrapped.

On a brighter note, I get to take the kids skating Saturday. My friend is having a party for his son and since I will have the kiddos, that means, not only do I get to take them skating, I get to put on my fancy speed skates and play, too.

I can almost feel the judgement seeping in through the screen. I’m not a bit ashamed that I love to skate. When I was younger. I think I went quite a few months in my skates. Only taking them off to shower… and sometimes to sleep. But not always. I loved skating!

That was also around the time that I decided I was going to get in the Guinness Book of World Records for Hula Hooping. I stood on the porch for hours. Not just one or two. I think it was more like six or eight. Just hula hooping my life away.

What everyone neglected to tell me was that you actually have to call Guinness to let them know you are attempting to break a world record. Or at the very least have someone watching you the whole time so you can’t cheat. I did neither. I just hula’d away until I finally got the memo. I’m not sure who told me. I’m not even sure why I remember that.

I have a whole section of childhood clarity during that time of my life. I guess I was in 7th or 8th grade. I had a boyfriend named Jimmy who used to feel me up every chance he got. He was older than me. And we had a trio of Italian brothers who lived across the street. The Marucci’s. Each brother was cuter than the next. We used to play kiss and go seek. I always had a crush on Johnny. And when we kissed, he tasted like pizza. Or maybe he smelled like pizza. Because his family owned a pizza shop/bar right next to their house. Maybe that’s why pizza is my favorite food….

He’s one of my favorite childhood memories. Maybe because he’s one of the very few childhood memories I have.

I’m pretty sure it was the Marucci’s who introduced us all to the game Stretch. I could be mistaken. But I do know that we would all gather at the school down the block with a knife and great ambition of being the champion. We would throw the knife into the ground next to the foot of the person standing next to us. They would have to stretch their foot to the knife. And then it was their turn to throw. It went on and on until you were all stretched out and fell. (Kids, do not try this at home).

That’s the game that almost took my brother, Greg’s, toe. Someone was a bad aim. Might have been me. Might have been someone else. I really don’t remember. And he’s not on social media to tell us. So the world may never know.

We also used to steal my mom’s aqua net hairspray. That was back when everything was aerosol. And we would spray paint the wooden fence by the school and then quickly light it on fire. The hairspray burned out quick so the fence never caught on fire (thank God).

I seriously don’t know how we didn’t all go to jail or spend some time in juvenile. We were kind of a bunch of heathens back then.

Anyway, I don’t know how we got from roller skates to fiery Italian boys.

Welcome to my brain.



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