Birthdays, Migraines, and Wildlife

The last weekend was both busy and slow.  Saturday we collected The Child and visited my folks to celebrate my Dad's birthday.  He'll be 90 next year; when that happens, we'll have to plan a large celebration with fancy food and champagne and maybe a Mozart Quartet... Or something.   This time around was a modest affair with immediate family.  

Sunday started out typically. Mark and I had talked about getting up before dawn and going to Delta Ponds to try an spot some more beavers.  I woke up around 6 AM, peered between the blinds at what I thought was an overcast morning, groaned, and burrowed further under the covers.  

Around 7 AM I did toddle out of bed and found Mark in the living room.  The sun painted high clouds magenta, and the waning full moon hid behind the two pines to the west.  I realized I was a Bad Husband for keeping Mark from his early morning nature walk, and said that we should go—but Mark said we could go in the evening.  

After breakfast, I thought I'd join a Zoom writing session of folks I know, but then I got a blind spot in my vision as I was trying to catch up on social media on my phone and the next thing I knew, there was a vibrating spiral of blue lightning in the middle of everything, which put the kibosh on reading or doing anything requiring sight.  

I ended up napping outside all morning on our deck furniture.  In the sunlight. It got up to 65F.  This is two weeks after the snow and ice storm and about a week of temperatures in the mid-20s.  I think I might have gotten a mild tan.  

Luckily, my aural-migraines aren't too bad; although my eyes didn't feel like they were focusing properly until the mid-afternoon.  I convinced Mark to go to Delta Ponds a little early, and we headed out around 4PM.  Mark thought we were there a little early, but as we were walking along the place where we'd seen a beaver the week before, I heard a nibbling sound, and there was a great big beaver sitting on the bank just below the walkway stripping the bark off of a twig.  Mark saw a smaller beaver near-by. 

Scintillating Wednesday

Wednesday was a low energy day.  It started out fine, but then a little after 9 this morning I started getting a blind spot in my vision, and then the flashing dots appeared.  There wasn't much of a headache, but the strobing did make it difficult to read anything.   I'm not sure what triggered it -- I hadn't had a chocolate snack yet (or that much tea), and the last one had been the previous night.  I'm wondering if my mobile phone might have been the culprit, but I really won't know.   I was mostly fine after a two hour nap, but not at my best for the rest of the day.   The only thing good about these stupid migraines is that they're mostly flashing vision problems, so I'm thankful that they don't feel like someone's driving nails into my head -- but I do wish if I were going to have scintillating spirals in my vision that some sort of mystic Hildegard von Bingen experience would come with them.  

Saturday, Mark and I went to the beach with Aoife.  We ended up at Muriel O. Ponsler Memorial State Scenic Viewpoint and beach.  I am trying to remember the last time I was at a beach, and it must have been before the COVID outbreak.  The sky was mutable, with patchy clouds blowing overhead; at one point a thick cloud bank blew southward over the coastal spurs.   The strong wind blew little tendrils of sand along the dunes and reminded me of a dream I had back in the 1980's where blowing coastal wind indicated a spirit gull's displeasure.

I brought my sand compass, and also the anchored string for making spirals.  Aoife wanted to eat the stick I used to make arcs in the sand, but I managed to create a thirty-two foot diameter pattern of arcs and concentric circles.  The anchor stayed put more securely than I'd hoped, and it would be very easy to use it to make a spiral path in the sand.  As long as the dog doesn't help too much.  Next time I'll have to bring some plywood for a straight edge. 

There were a few times when we could let Aoife off leash--she loved running back and forth in the sand--but as it got later, it seemed prudent to keep her leashed.  Also, we didn't want her harassing the sea gulls too much.  Aoife didn't want to be more than about two blocks away from us, so we had to stick together on the beach.  Mark held her leash while I drew; I held her while Mark went exploring on the low tide rocks.  

We didn't find any agates, but there was a nice basalt stone that feels good in the palm, and also a stone that looks a little like a worn Egyptian cartouche with mysterious, suggestive strokes within it.  

On the way back home, Mark stopped the car at a scenic overview and we managed to see four whales spouting.   On the way back home, Aoife slept and slept and slept.  

Monday Post-Migraine Gym

Went to the gym Monday.  And did the Aerobic Routine.  Okay, full confession, I skipped out on the burpees.  I  think I get extra points for going because earlier, I had one of my flashing-lights migraines--which meant I felt a little off and tired, and occasionally, my head felt like it was being pressed between two very firm pillows.

Weekend Updates

Gym report:  I met with my trainer today (11/7) and went over a new routine.  It's more aerobic, and the sets are designed to repeat reps until exhaustion.  There are a number of new exercises, but we only got through about four fifths of them before I had to sit down -- I don't know what happened, it felt like a sugar crash or heat stroke; I'm guessing I managed to run out of ATP... Or something.  

The other theory is that I was doing so many jumps, squats, and crunches that my body was going into shock in protest.

My trainer was pretty cool about it; I felt like a wuss.  I'm still thirty-two in my mind, but lately my body seems bent on reminding me that I'm in my mid-fifties.  

I went again Friday (11/8) and managed to get more-or-less through the new routine before stalling out during the burpees (of which I did four, if one is being charitable).  I quite obviously have little stamina when it comes to aerobic exercises.  The whole point, though, is to convince my body to start consuming the extra fat I've got stored as a bicycle tire around my waist and other areas, in the hope that my lower abdominals will start to show up at some time within the next two years.

On the migraine front.  It's possible that I've found a pattern:  too much 70% chocolate.  Maybe chocolate plus tea.  Plus a short night's sleep.  It might work out with, stay up late the night before, rush out to work without a proper snack, get distracted at work with HTML editing, documenting, and other keyboard-based support, and not notice that I've snarfed through more than a third of a Very Dark Chocolate bar and refreshed my tea about three times.  Get a migraine light-show at noon.  

  Anyway, that's one theory.  Although why it's taken five years for this to manifest is a little curious.  I've cut back chocolate to only one square in a thirty minute period, imposed a limit of only three squares a day, and pushed back the second round of More Tea to 10 AM.  We'll see what happens.  The goal is to go a month without another one of these things.

Other theories include blaming my endocrine system, tequila, my slightly twisted Progressive Lens glasses (recently re-aligned), and too much time on my mobile device. 

On the writing front, I bit the bullet and purchased a new, bulkier wireless keyboard to type on.  The old keyboard gave years of service, and I appreciate it's slimness, but I'm not missing having to stop typing to try to get the lower third of the keys to register.

Early November

The Halloween decorations are slowly going back into storage.  There's a few odd bits around:  an orange votive candle glass on the kitchen table; the bat cutout hanging from the front light; a white jack-o-lantern grinning like a skull on the backyard table, and an orange one knocked face-down to the lawn and leaves by a delinquent squirrel.  Oddly, there are still burnt orange and maroon leaves clinging to the trees out back.

On the gym front:  managed to get to the gym last Monday, Friday, and Monday and this Wednesday.  Last Wednesday I had a minor scintillation migraine, so I stayed home.  I'm finally going to meet with my trainer this week to see about an alternate work-out to mix things up, since I seem to be plateauing with my current workout.

On the writing front:  Had a passible writing night Tuesday actually writing and lightly editing a short story.  I'm still not not wildly enthusiastic about the default space, a mezzanine in a local super market, mostly because it can be really distracting there if the wrong group shows up.    I've got some stories in the mail, and it would be a good thing if there were more things out there.

On the music front:  I've discovered a new to me music group called Helium Vola.  They're a kind of German Enya, or a more Techno Stary Olsa, or a more operatic Dead Can Dance.  Some of their pieces are irritating, and seem to be more suited to a modern dance take on ritual than something to listen to -- but I'm finding many pieces that are uplifting (if in a sometimes goofy and frantic way).

Turning the Wheel

October 29 2019

The new moon hit with a vengeance this weekend and this has been a time of bodily transformation for me.  Well, okay, maybe not bodily transformation so much as a "The Tower" major arcana moment of a flash of insight that some foundation beliefs are not true.

October has been a month for aura-migraines.  These are different from migraines in that they don't paralyze me with debilitating pain, but I do get a kind of spiral staircase of lightning that grows from a spark in a random point in my eyesight and expands over a period of about a half hour to a strobing arc along one side of my field of vision.

I'm used to these types of light-shows because I typically get them about once every eighteen to thirty-six months.  I used to get full-blown migraines back in the early eighties, and the lightning staircases are a cake-walk by comparison.  I've gone decades between them.  They are more irritating than painful, mostly because I can't read or see around them very well, and I often feel tired or "off" after my vision clears.

Except that since October 1, I've had three. (Edited: three and a half counting the 30th.) Unfortunately, other than the flashing spirals, there haven't been any manifestations of Latent Superpowers, nor has the spiral turned into a Holy Lightning Snake who Sang me Divine Truth.  Which is too damn bad, because I could use a superpower or the gift of prophesy.

The last time I had an aura-migraine, everyone on the Internet advised me to make sure my retina wasn't falling off.  I went to an eye doctor and my retina was fine.

In any case, the October increase in frequency was worrisome and I made an appointment to see my primary health care provider about it.  Since I hadn't visited him in -- oh -- about three years, there were a bunch of tests they ordered.

The upshot of the tests was 1) my cholesterol levels have improved from something like 132 over 10, but the ratio is still Not Good, and 2) my pituitary gland is working overtime producing thyroid signals to get my thyroid into gear.  Unfortunately, this did not mean my Third Eye and Throat Chakra were opening ala Doctor Strange -- and now I have a diagnosis of hypothyroidism and a prescription for thyroid hormones.

Which launched me straight from denial about my age into anger at my weak flesh.
I am angry with my body for failing me in biology.

I am angry with my little brown prescription bottle of meds for the daily reminder that my body is breaking down, and for the unseen mountain of empty brown plastic bottles looming in my future.
I am angry that I have to take a daily little pill and the material chain that puts on me.  When I wake up, the first thing I have to do is take a pill and then wait an hour before eating.  If I were going to wake up in Paris or something, I'll have to plan to travel with my cache of medications.  And good-bye to Parisian tartlet breakfast in bed.

Mark was sympathetic to some degree, but pointed out that I live in a wonderful time where a little pill can redress hormonal imbalances.   I pointed out that this was a treatment, and not a cure.  And then I launched into an internal review of the "See this pill?  It's to remind me to take this pill." routine.

One of the possible side-effects of the pills is temporary hair-loss.  But if they treat hypothyroidism, they may treat things like dry skin, sore joints, feeling tired all the time, sensitivity to cold, and a grab-bag of little complaints that I was attributing to (secretly) being fifty-something.
I am also angry because having to take a daily prescription is something Old Men do, which doesn't fit into my inner vision of myself:  who is a man in his early thirties.   And if My Inner Me was taking supplements, it would be some Ylang-Ylang or protein concoction designed to enhance his Abs of Steel.

And then I tell myself I'm lucky they didn't find something worse, like cancer.  But I still feel angry about the situation of having to take a daily medication, and now I feel guilty for feeling angry about something that isn't a terminal illness.

Mark points out that at least I don't have to inject the meds, which I know is supposed to make me feel better, but I'm still pissed off that the medication-free days are over.

And underneath that anger is anger at myself for getting older and having to adjust my self image, and anger at time for taking away the part of me that I like:  my rugged good looks (okay, my goofy nerd looks), my gym body (yes, I'm aware I have a spare tire around my middle), my creativity (er, uniqueness), my mental sharpness (which some people call "lateral thinking") -- and then I wonder at what point will I stop being me, would I still be me if I couldn't have sex, or would I still be me if I lost the allure that pleases Mark.  (Okay, stud; stand in the half-light and swallow that levothyroidozine.  That's so hot.)  What if I got into some horrible accident, would I still be lovable and attractive?  What if I become a terrible burden to Mark?

I was so irritated that I went to the gym early and then went out for dinner instead of preparing Mandatory Taco Monday Tacos.

I think the only way to cope with this is to find the right medication dispenser.  And I'm not talking a square plastic pill box in the shape of a calendar.

I want a dispenser that is Death's Head PEZ dispenser -- except these pills are too small to fit into a PEZ dispenser.  I want a pill dispenser that is a fairy with a wicked smile and a silver chain; or in the image of the Norse Goddess who dispenses the Apples of Youth that keep the Aesir hale.

I want a pill dispenser that is a giant geared circle, slowly turning one cog every twenty four hours and dropping a pill into a crystal goblet with a chime.  

I want a dispenser that is Green Lantern's lantern and I can start out each day with, "By brightest day / by darkest night..."

Maybe I can train a flock of white birds to fly to our house after Mark and I face the East with our palms out, and sing the song that the aged star, Ramandu, and his daughter sang in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader;" and then the brightest, whitest bird will drop a pill into my mouth the way one dropped a fire-berry from the valleys of the sun into Ramandu's mouth to make the aged star young again.

Naw, nix the birds -- they'd probably leave bird poop all over everything.

Hildigard Migraine

Last night (Monday) I was working on the novel (breaking up large texts into scenes and moving them around in Scrivener) and was going to move on to new writing when I noticed a bright spot in my vision.  Yep, it was the begining of an aura that presages a migrane. I was hoping it would go away, but  then I noticed there was also a blind spot when I looked down at the H-key on my keyboard.  Luckily,  I didn't have much pain or discomfort;  but it made it hard to see.

At first, there was a whirlpool of blue sparks and a kind of fog in the right side of my vision.  It seemed to be mostly in my right eye.  A little later on, the sparks united into a jagged line that started about 11 o'clock in my right eye (and possibly just a little in my left eye), arced in a saw-toothed lightning bolt around the clock, and ended at 7 o'clock.  A one point there seemed to be a little red flame at the 7 o'clock terminus of the wiggling lightning bolt.  Lightning bolts are new:  I usually get bands of flashing sparks.  I would have channeled my inner Hildegard Vonbingen, but I really couldn't read and I wondered if maybe the computer screen might be making the auras worse.   I imagine my Hildegard verses would go like this:

(Cue New Age handbells, synthesizer chords, and a world beat)
Sing praise to the Sky FatherWhose breast is like roiling storm clouds.Whose heart beats like thunder.Whose love is like lightning.Tempestuous One! Rain your blessing love upon us!

(Oh, wait!  KWAX's Tuesday morning show is playing a violin piece (with horn flourishes) that this fits into!)

Luckily, from first spark to last blurry lightning bolt only lasted about a half-hour (thanks ibuprophen?).  I'm thinking that the last migrane was triggered by a storm coming in, and last night a storm blew in.  

Tuesday I was a little off; I didn't exactly have a headache, and I think I'm going to call it a "not-headache."  Or maybe an "Oh my brain."   Caffeine seemed to help.    At least three social media friends contacted me and told me to make sure the previous evening's fireworks show wasn't a detatched retina -- so I made an appointment with an eye doctor.

I took a little disco nap, and then went off to write.  I started out with a Vance travelling upriver in a punt with Jerick and realized -- because this is a "meet the family" prelude -- that Jerick's sister Jynene would be with them after I'd written about three-fourths of the disjointed scenes comprising their trip.   I managed about 1800 words.

On the technical end, the upcoming new moon on St. Patrick's day makrs the half-way point of thisprocject, and I'm still only about 25000 words into a Very Rough Draft.... I'm hoping to get back on track writing wise the week before Easter, when I'll have the house to myself (and the cats)

Fantasy Time, Working Out, and Migraines

Wednesday night I sat down with the fantasy world's ephemeris and made a four-month calendar, marking down when the icy-white moon, Lustis, and the glowing ember moon, Hestus, were new and full, and when they switched places in their co-orbital dance in the sky.  I'd gathered from the numbers that Hestus, which is smaller and has the largest difference between its faster, inner orbit and its slower, outer one was moving much more quickly in the lower orbit--but seeing that its fast month is twice as fast as its slow month on a calendar is much more clear in a visual calendrical form than a table of moons' angles.

Went to the gym Thursday evening:  300? cal on the Nordic Eliptical.  3x13x30lbs deltiod fly.  13x(30+40+50) on the pec fly.  13x(50+60+70)lbs+5x80lbs on the lat pull-down.   3x13 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x12x30lbs barbell curls.  3x13x30 tricept pull-downs.  

Thursday night was a bust as far as writing went; I did some very minor edits and organization in Scrivener.  I forced myself up at 5:20 Friday morning to write some words... and continued with the very minor edits.  The session turned into research of the history of iron and steel, mostly because I wanted to know the relative hardness of various metals.  

At one point I was writing about a warning charm Vance the Sorcerer would wear, and saw in an earlier draft that he was wearing a ring--which was changed into a large iron ring on a necklace... but I'd left the necklace part out, so the ring at his breast was hanging there and my early-morning mind went to Protective Nipple Ring Magic.  Which isn't where I thought the Magic that Vance uses would go... and actually, there's a Barbarian Wolf-Priest lurking in later chapters, and I can totally imagine wolf-fang nipple piercing and the grizzled Wolf-Priest grunting about how the magic of the clan comes from the bite of the wolf over the heart, and how his mother wore the wolf-fang he wears now -- and the next thing I knew I was reading about how you have to keep your new piercing clean for about six months to avoid infection and how some nipples go permanently numb after a piercing... but then I was back on the high plateau with Grundar the 40-something greying Wolf-Priest, talking about when his Mother bathed him in the icy waterfall in high summer before summoning the guardian wolf-pack that works with the clan to accept him as the new Wolf Priest (or eat him).  

Friday night got a little writing in and then colored dots of a migraine aura began to blur out parts of my vision.  I'm fairly lucky that the migraines I get aren't particularly painful, but they do make doing anything like reading or writing difficult.  Also, they do make my eyes ache as if they were not quite the right size for their sockets.

Saturday, I felt plain off and slightly nauseous,  so not much of anything.  Mark had something similar, so I'm thinking we caught some kind of bug.