Saturday, August 05, 2006

A Saturday with a migraine

You stare into space, lost somewhere between lucidity and darkness, wishing that the pain would go away.

You alternate between the bed and the easy chair. Every now and then you check the computer, just to remind yourself that, yes, there is a world out there.

A friend stops by for a few minutes. He brings you dinner, stops a moment to watch the Civil War program on TV. He ruminates on the ineffective leadership of Gen. George McClellan, then leaves to take his wife to dinner. You thank him for coming.

You miss a colleague's wedding tonight and it makes you sad. You wish you could have been there to watch the happy couple take their first steps together. Instead you pop another pill that doesn't help anything at all.

You fall asleep, thankfully earning a respite for a few minutes. You dream. It's sunset. Someone is chasing you. Suddenly, you're walking along a beach. It's the most beautiful place you've ever seen. You can feel the waves splashing on your toes. The sky is pink. You do not want the moment to end.

But it does, and you wake up in your chair.

You turn on the TV. It's a real life murder mystery. A professor in Richmond is killed in the early morning of Oct. 30, 2004, shot in the back as he walks down the driveway of his quiet suburban home to fetch the morning paper.

Two hours later you learn that his ex-wife killed him, probably because he received full custody of the kids. She resents it and doesn't like paying nearly $900 a month in child support.

She cries on the witness stand. Claims she was in Houston the weekend of the murder, even offers the shaky testimony of a friend and the excuse that she was at some local bar the night before the murder.

But her cell phone records and videotape at a convenience store prove otherwise. The jury deliberates for less than an hour and sentences her to life.

She cries, still insisting that she is innocent. You don't feel sorry for her.

You pick up Faulkner. The pain returns full force. You feel sick to your stomach and put the book down.

The local news shows a protest at Oak Ridge over the nuclear bomb. You lament that your head feels remarkably like such a weapon has exploded in it. The joke is so bad, you don't laugh.

It's a lost weekend. There's nothing left to do but sleep.

2 Comments:

Blogger thinkingasiwrite said...

Hope your Sunday was MUCH better!! =)

8:46 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Woe is me!

10:47 PM  

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