Number nine yesterday. Number god-damned fucking nine yesterday day. I'm fucking 35 years old. I should be done with these horrible things. I run. I exercise. I eat all the good stuff I'm supposed to eat. I don't smoke. I don't drug up. I don't toke. I have problems consuming bubbly drinks or even caffeinated ones. Why the hell do I have these totally fuck-up-your-life throw-you-down-and-step-on-you stupid mi-fucking-graine headaches. I'm tired of them! TIRED.
My grandfather had them. My father had them. How did I become so lucky as to inherit them from the male side of my family? My grandfather outgrew them. My dad lost the pain of his. Of course, if we go back another generation, the migraines come from my great grandmother, my dad's dad's mother. Argh.
I guess we all have our burden. We all have that one quirk that makes us who we are, that one burden that shapes our lives. I have my migraines. Kris has his Crohn's. Chris has diabetes. Everyone has something. If we don't, we probably make it up.
My friend Robin Saxen (who I've sadly fallen out of touch with) and I were once comparing childhoods. I thought mine was bad, then heard hers. I consider hers much worse and said as much. She replied, "We all have our burdens. Who's to say which burden is heavier than the next? We have them, we carry them. Your load is never more than you can handle."
Yeah, I miss Robin.
I'd like to think I chose this burden. That, before I was born I was given a menu of fantastic features I could have, with the associated burdens that go with them. That I chose all my good qualities, and thought to myself, "These headaches? I can manage them. I can bear them, because I know the gifts I have in compensation."
Because my gifts are many. And my blessings are more.