Kage Baker … where do I go from here today? I honestly don’t know. I need to write, because I must finish Who We Did On Our Summer Holidays and send it to Kage’s agent by the end of Monday next.
And I ought to see to some mundanities like laundry, dishes, parrot maintenance, retrieving the rawhide chew thrown into the top of the bookshelf by the projectile-talented corgi.
But I have a headache … whine, whine, whine.
Kage got bad headaches, migraines – much more so than me. Her own solution for a migraine headache always started with “I will do nothing and see if it goes away spontaneously.” (For the record, this never worked and I don’t recommend it.) Things would then segue into copious amounts of real Coke, then black coffee, then an eventual lie down. Note the absence of pain killers? She hated taking pain pills – seemed to think it was wimpy or something. Her last week of life, I still had to argue with her about this …
Once I finally got her to take something and she had slept a bit, the pain would usually withdraw to the point where she was bored, but also still visually challenged. Her therapy for this stage was to watch cartoons. She claimed that sitting still and watching certain kinds of animation provided a soothing rhythm for her recovering optic nerves without placing strain on her eye muscles. Not anime! She preferred classic Disney or Warner Brothers, but in later years Samurai Jack, Spongebob Squarepants and Invader Zim did the trick, too.
Was this total nonsense? No idea. My first instinct was always to chalk it up to reverse hypochondria, or faith healing: Kage was better than anyone else I ever knew at sinking herself into an alternate reality, so maybe it was a form of trance. It seemed to work for her, I can attest to that.
It does nothing for me, though. But then, not much does – I can’t take NSAIDS right now, and Tylenol might as well be artificial sweetener for all the good it does me. So I am going to glug a cup of Don Brown’s coffee (world-famed headache killer) move the carton full of The Scarlet Spy copies off my bed, and pull the covers up. Harry will sing me to sleep for a while.
Then I can get back to planning night maneuvers in the English Channel.