Tuesday, August 14, 2007

It's 530

What does it mean when you wake up with a pounding head and you haven't even been drinking?

I'm thinking dehydration is to blame. Otherwise I'd have to go with the next-most-sensible alternate theory which is that the pixies are back.

I do not like the pixies, for they believe that my frontal lobe is their personal bounce-house. They play on my gray matter in large wooden clogs that guarantee that a throbbing hot bruise will remain in each infinitesimal footprint for hours. Sometimes their giddy recreation will also impact the visual cortex, and because the gnomes that live there are not at all easygoing, they react very badly indeed to over-bouncing. The shooting stars that periodically course across my vision can therefore only mean that the gnomes have launched yet another cerebellar mortar attack on the pixies in an effort to get them to stop the partying and leave town already.

Gnomes are cranky like that.

So too is the invisible troll that has clamped my head in his fist and is gently squeezing the sense out of it. My normally miserable typing skills are downright abhorrent right now, and the ability to form a coherent thought is about to be forced out my eyebrows, or perhaps directly out my nose. Right now it's a dead heat as to from whence a great mucoid lump of logic is to be ejected.

My friend I.Buprofen is slow to get into the game, and as the regular vanquisher of all things gnomey and pixellated and vaguely invisibly trollish, I'm a touch disappointed. I might have to call in another phalanx of 400 MGs (that's "mini gendarme" to you) of I.B.'s brethren just to clear the decks. The 400 MGs I sent in about a half an hour ago are only poking around at the edges of the incursion, and I 'm not at all into that kind of half-hearted action right now. I need those pixies GONE, dagnabbit!

You might ask, what if the headache is NOT due to gnomes and such? Well, it's like this: I'm not willing to blame this all on dehydration and let water take its meanering ox-bow-y course to curative action. Oh no, I am not. I'm going with the back-up pixie vanquishing of modern anthropomorphized chemistry just in CASE there happen to be certain pseudo-supernatural creatures setting up a carnival in my cranial cavity.

No sense not using what common sense is left to me, I shouln't think.

More tomorrow, when I sincerely hope I've stopped thinking in nonsense rhyme and being able to only communicate through eye-blinks and intestinal noises.

Have a nice day y'all.

No comments: