Migraines and Millionaires

I hate migraines.

In years past I lived with an almost constant low-grade headache including a few full-blown migraines a month and they are now few and far between since I had all my 'parts' either removed or shifted and have gotten, yanno- old.

My last one was back in April- after running myself literally ragged with Ward in the hospital and Alec to care for and a whole lot of worry and stress. Generally when I feel a headache coming on I take Advil Migraine (the only over the counter med that works for me) and it's gone in 30 minutes. Occasionally I'll need to lie down in the dark and if it's really bad a cold washcloth to my head is my best friend.

Back in April, I pushed beyond the tipping point and by the time I stopped to care for myself it was not because I finally wised up to the wisdom of being sensible and acknowledging my humanity, but because my body took matters into its own hands and just flat stopped working- with some intestinal trouble added in for extra emphasis. I spent several days in a dark room, unable to rise from the bed, Alec luckily old enough to fend for both himself and me.

So it didn't really surprise anyone that it happened again this week. I'd been pushing, bullheading, prodding our lives forward at warp speed to get this house project underway and yea verily finished in record time- before Ward's next appointments in Houston in December.

And of course that means trying to sort through piles and mountains of fifteen years of living in THIS house.

And planning to go to and actually going to Missouri for our Homestead Family Preunion.

And I think that all would've been OK if not for the horrors of

*the Missouri backroads*

Don't get me wrong- it's absolutely beautiful in the Ozarks. Outstandingly, breathtakingly dizzyingly beautiful.

Therein lies the rub.

I get motion sick.

I can't ride a merry go round, have to steel myself for the rising and falling of an elevator, and must ride in the front seat of a car.

Now, we live in East Texas- the lovely rolling hills forested babbling brooks area of this great state of Texas, so winding narrow roads are no strangers to me.

The Ozark 2 lane road is a whole different creature.

They not only weave back and forth left and right hither and yon but simultaneously nod up and down high and low pass me the barf bag please.

Complicating matters, we drove into Neil's after dark, so all I could see were the yellow lines like so many erratic sparkler trails on a hot July 4th night.

Anyhoo, by the time we got to Neil's I was fully green around the gills. I rallied quickly however, surrounded by good friends and good food and the weekend was spent thoroughly enjoying ourselves, and when we left I thought, "Hey- it's daytime now and I'll be driving instead of Ward driving while I try to read directions and it'll be FINE". (mental thumbs up to myself)

Well, it helped just a smidge that I drove, and by the time we got to Little Rock we were in that lovely string of storms that passed through a large portion of the nation last weekend so we were all a little white-knuckled by the time we got home at almost midnight Sunday night.

I then made the dubious decision to upload, edit, slideshow, caption and post all the photos from the weekend, putting me in bed about 3:30AM Monday morning.

Wonder of wonders (look of shock and amazement) I woke up with the Mother of All Migraines.

I spent all Monday and most of Tuesday in bed, drugged heavily, in the dark, attempting to press the cold washrag straight THROUGH my head.

But that's not what I'm writing about today.

While in bed, I had the TV on. I rarely pay attention to the TV, except for Rachel and Keith, I don't want to see TV because from the little bits that seep into my head while the boys are watching it seems...mostly stupid.

I had no idea.

Both Monday and Tuesday I was kept in rapt attention by one show. And not in a good way- not in an intellectually stimulating or interestingly historical way. More like a can't turn away from a car wreck even though you know you should sort of way.

The show is "The Real Housewives of Atlanta".

Really?

Are there really women whose soul purpose in life is to live in the right neighborhoods, wear the right clothes, know the right people and will their lives really end if they need to worry about budgets and caring for their own children and cooking their own meals?

I just can't fathom living such an appallingly wasteful and meaningless life.

Although I suspect that's not the purpose of the show.

I suspect the purpose of the show (at least in the eyes of the characters) is to show all the rest of us what we're missing, what we should aspire to, what we should be envious of.

I lay in my darkened room, in my century old drafty farmhouse, watching a 19" TV screen from Walmart, covered in quilts from Goodwill and listened to my son in the room next to me playing with his humane society puppy and I thankfully accepted a new cold washrag from my ever-attentive ever-loving husband.

Outside the wind blew quietly- gently through the open window with the box fan in it came the sounds of my world- dogs barking on the porch, chickens in the yard, birds singing, every so often the train going through downtown Brownsboro a quarter mile away.

And I felt the stresses of my life shrink and float away with the solid knowledge and thankfulness at how very very rich I am.