When Your Head's Not in the Game

 So I had a rough night Sunday heading into Monday. I don't know if this is common with migraines, but one feature of many of mine is that it isn't readily apparent that I'm getting a migraine. I just have this nagging feeling of things not being right, like maybe I'm getting a stomach bug, and why is my mouth so dry, and I get really irritable. Even though this accumulation of things should make me think 'migraine', it's often hours before it does. It's somehow an annoying feature of this syndrome that its nature makes it unrecognizable.

So I woke up Monday morning and just felt Bad. I used to be cranky any morning I had to wake up early, and to forestall just being a bitch across the board I would not talk much. I've gotten over that - having kids sort of makes it necessary- and my husband and I generally chat amiably while getting ready and then as I drive him to my mom and dad's, where he drops off the dog and either takes their vehicle to work or walks the rest of the way. Monday morning I was sullen and silent and stabbed the radio button off spitefully when I started the car and it came on too loud. Matt got out of the car, grabbed the dog carrier and said "have a good day". I muttered "don't fucking tell me what to do", but I waited until after he'd closed the door.

I made it through the work day and did some errands and picked up Lucy and visited my parents, then came home and decided to actually cook dinner. I made sheet pan chicken thighs and cauliflower with a balsamic sauce, and I mixed everything and laid out everything and put it in the oven and for some reason I put on the exact time the recipe said and then just walked away and trusted that that would work. Why? I NEVER do that. I ALWAYS put less time than the recipe says and check on it.

I was at the kitchen table writing out Christmas cards when I suddenly got a whiff of burning smell, and then a delivery man rang the doorbell and Lucy lost her mind, and I had to deal with the delivery and Lucy just kept barking, and then he left and I had burned the shit out of a whole meal for the first time, like...ever, maybe?

I was feeling like this maybe just wasn't my day. I put the sheet pan on the top of the stove and texted Matt that I had just burned dinner and he should not walk in the house and say "is there something burning?" if he valued his life. Then I typed "you can eat perogies", which he had bought the day before. Except it autocorrected to "you can eat peroxide". When I saw that I started laughing so hard I couldn't catch my breath, which reminded me how dry my mouth was, and then I started crying a little, and THEN I realized that I had a migraine (and texted my husband that 'peroxide' was a lot more hostile than what I was going for).

So if I accidentally wrote anything profane in a Christmas card that comes your way, I apologize.