So, the weather isn't particularly good today. After dropping Gab off at school, I wandered to the Starbucks as planned, but later purchased a pumpkin spice latte for Jessica and drove back to her house. Her conference call had run over, and another call was scheduled, and you know what? I totally understood how frustrating work can be when you want to do something and work just keeps piling up.
I've realized only within the last two years that a LOT of my stress (where "a LOT" means 80% or so) is from wanting to be elsewhere from where I was at the moment: with a friend, not late in traffic, on time, working on a other project, all sorts of places except where I was. The moments in the now when I realize the stress of this root cause are times when I can actually dissipate it with the realization that sometimes, there's nothing to be done about it, so just stop stressing. Learning this is different than knowing this and finally being able to act upon it has helped me tremendously in the last few months.
So, instead of Jessica heading to the coffee shop, I brought the coffeeshop to Jessica.
We talked for a bit, when she checked the weather and my flight. My flight was delayed (as was Dad's flying home, we had hoped to meet up briefly in the airport), so she checked to see what other flights were available. I called the airline, too, to see my options, but ultimately decided to just try to head out. If the weather was very poor, I could catch a ride back home with Dad. If it was only mostly poor, I'd fly out a couple hours late.
My flight did, indeed, board an hour late, which wasn't so bad.
What WAS bad, however, was the realization as I was sitting in the my seat buckled up, reading my book (still Old Man's War, totally engrossing), that I couldn't actually FEEL the book in my hand.
I looked down with complete confusion.
The book was in my hand. "At least, I think it's my hand," I thought. The hand was attached to the arm which was attached, by the look of things, to my shoulder, so yeah, that's my hand.
I couldn't feel the hand, and I didn't recognize it as my own. When I thought "move" at it, it didn't move.
The plane hadn't taken off yet, so I pulled out my cell phone, to the deserved glares of my fellow passengers, turned it on with the flight attendant describing the plane evacuation instructions in the background, and waited for a signal. On signal, I dialed Kris.
"Uh oh, plane not taking off?" was his greeting to my call.
"No. Migraine. I can't feel my arm."
"That bad so soon?"
"Do you have medicine?"
"Take it, try to sleep."
Sleeping on a plane. With a migraine. Right. I did think, however, "Tyler Grant, you are currently my best friend," as I pulled out the vicodin from my bag and swallowed it.
The flight was uneventful other than my cycle of reading as much as I can, then trying to sleep when the auras passed across my vision. I made sure to use the lavatory as much as I could, so that the two other women in the row with me could it when I chose to use it and not when I was trying to sleep. I was successful in that.
I hope this is the last migraine of this year. These things are horrible.