Kage Baker got migraines sometimes. Poor Kage would suffer excruciating pain, tunnel vision, kinesthesia, and what she described as “My thoughts hurt.” What this meant, we were never sure as she could not remember the sensation afterward. But it stopped her in her tracks.
I get them, too. (Another sister of ours only got them when she was pregnant; yet another only got them when she was not pregnant. Yes, there a lot of us, and we are all wired funny.) But I don’t get pain: just amazing visual distortions. I see a glittering silver and black Art Deco pattern; it starts in the corners of my visual field and gradually webs over everything I see. Oh, and my depth perception program pretty much crashes, and is replaced by one apparently intended for someone 9 feet tall with one eye in the middle of her forehead.
It doesn’t hurt, but it still leaves me incapable of just about anything.
It’s starting now. The Art Deco shiny is beginning to frame the world. I must go lie down for the duration of the neuron storm.
This blog will resume tomorrow, when my nervous system gets over itself.
Tomorrow: neuronormalcy, or as close as I get.