When Superwoman Eats a Fistful of Kryptonite

Yes DC fanboys and fangirls, I understand that I am not appropriately referencing Superwoman as she’s been used in any of the 9 billion upheavals since the 1960s, but as you’ll come to find out, my brain hurts, and that’s the best I can do, so bug off…

In my house, I am the Ringmaster. I get everyone where they need to be. Most of the time they’re even dressed and more or less on time when they get there. I do all of the grocery shopping and food preparation and make sure that everyone has at least a chance at proper nutrition. I do the laundry and the cleaning, and throughout the remodel, I’m doing the painting and the decorating. More or less, I kick ass. Furthermore, I kick ass while holding down a 40 hour/week job and winning the family bread. I love every minute of it and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Then there’s this whole issue of my brain. The beast inside my head that is supposed to be my greatest ally in all of the singing and dancing that is life, has turned on me. It takes over my motor function and gives me the tremors. It takes the words in my mouth and spews them out as garble. It makes me so dizzy that I get motion sick just from keeping my eyes open. But you know what, not even that can stop me. Through a fine balance of pharmaceuticals and adaptive strategies, I can have my fucked up brain and ringlead too- for about 360 days/year.

This week the bastard got me. It started with a migraine. Not my typical down-a-few-pills-and-it-will-go-away migraine, but the come-and-get-me-I-can’t-drive-home variety. After 14 hours of restless sleep and a steady diet of ibuprofen, electrolytes, and caffeine, I made it to zombiehood and that’s pretty much where I’ve stayed ever since. I’m back to the daily grind, but it’s a very half-assed grind. I feel myself working back up to full speed, but I’m pissed.

I’m pissed that I have to do this, even if it is for one week or so a year. I’m pissed that my kids are old enough to notice and comment on my shutting down. I’m pissed that Man of the House finally witnessed it (although he’s always been warned that it’s a possibility). I’m pissed that when I try to explain to the rest of the world that I don’t feel well, they look at me like I need to buck up.

So, next week, I will be better and back to myself. Next week this will be nothing more than a bad memory. Let’s just hope that it stays away for another year…