My husband was still sleeping so I quietly got out of bed (which is downstairs) and went to the kitchen for some migraine and PMS from Hell relief. I bent down slightly to open the drawer where we keep the drugs and was stopped mid-reach with stabbing pain in my lower back. Great, just great. How come that little rubber band that ties all your lower body bones to your spine always stops working at dumb times? The drug drawer is right next to the freezer so I grabbed some ice with the drugs and made my way to the couch that is downstairs. The couch is near the fireplace and semi-far from a ceiling fan but was easy to get to in the dark and while walking like a duck. I'm lying there on the ice when I hear the bird that has made my chimney its home start to fly around and make noise. This freaks me out every time I hear it but usually it's in the day and when I can run away easily. And, even though I am sitting on ice, I feel a bit warm. It's late (or early depending on how you look at it) and I was in pain and I was pretty sure that mean bird would fly down the chimney, open the doors on the firescreen thing and peck me to death while I zoned out in a Vicodin haze. It took me about half an hour, but I made it upstairs to the other couch, one beneath a ceiling fan and in front of a tv. It was better there, air is blowing, the ice is working, but I could still hear the bird squeaking. So I turned the TV on but I couldn't reach the remote that changes the channel. It was stuck on some infomercial where really unattractive people claim they are now a size 8 and got that way by eating lots of foods they love. The Mexican woman was saying she lost weight eating lots of enchiladas and rice. The black woman said she lost weight eating fried chicken and corn bread. A white woman kept stuffing her face with hamburgers. And just as I was waiting in shock for one of my people to come on and say she lost 50 pounds eating kugel and knishes, I fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of tools being banged around and my husband mumbling and mad about the bathroom sink he was trying to fix. My head was still aching, my back throbbing, my ice had melted into a puddle that for a second made me nervous that I had the never-ending period, and somehow now the mold and sludge in the pipes was my fault (even though it wasn't). The not very politically correct infomercial was over and now Gordon Ramsay and his weird horizontal chin wrinkle were telling someone to fuck off.The bird was still squeaking.
I thought for sure that part was just a bad dream.
Visit Linda Woods Artworks for prints on canvas, paper, or wood for all size spaces and budgets.