Staring at the blank illuminated white screen through the vicious fug of on-setting red wine headache... A paranoid conversation in the car on the way home about houses haunted by oversized spiders and weird insects means inevitable jinx and a causal effect: big deformed earwig sitting on the bedroom wall. Every speck of dust, imperfection on the walls and piece of fluff looks like a beetle. There is no milk in the fridge to aid calming creation of a nice cup of tea. Where does the milk go, and where do the mini-beasts come from?
The only time I ever slowly caress my forehead with the fingertips of both hands simultaneously is when alcohol is dehydrating my brain, causing some mysterious pain inducing chain of events. I know the brain itself has no nerve-endings and right about now I’m not privy to the details of where headache pain arises from. But now I’m in pain, so between typing I’m caressing the front of my skull hoping to alleviate my suffering. As this is the only situation where I indulge in such head touching, it’s also the only time I notice the lumpiness of my skull. Weird divots and bumps superfluous to design and feeling to my fingertips like Frankenstein’s monster writ large in Braille. Do these monstrous appendages only sprout when my head aches; are they the result of the pain or the cause of it; does the pain cause extra sensitivity making normal skullish undulations seem like expansive peaks and troughs? When will these fecking Paracetamol kick in, and why are there no Ibuprofen instead?
Perhaps the pain is not caused by the wine I’ve ingested and the bright screen I’m staring at through my old prescription lenses. A more likely candidate is the family of my (now dead) earwig friend. Following the by-name-by-nature instructions, they have entered my ear, and taken up residence behind my forehead and under my wig. I have to stop, this hurts to much. Darkness, and bed, welcome me....
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