EARLE LEVENSTEIN
Procrastinating Writer/Cartoonist
Books
My Life With Migraine
MY LIFE WITH MIGRAINE is my conversation with you; just the two of us; from the beginning when I opened my eyes and knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Of how I tried to keep myself reasonably intact in the face of unremitting assaults. Of my years of psychotherapy and how that relates to Migraine; nailing loaded issues that feed the flame. Every day. A challenge? You bet. But don't count me out. O.K.?
So, now what? p. 115
NO FUN:
THE MIGRAINE
TORTURE CHAMBER
Headaches, Nausea, Vertigo, Deja Vu, Nightmares, TMJ, Anxiety, Muscle and Joint Pain, Abdominal Issues...from childhood on. Why? No facts. Plenty of theories. It's coffee; alcohol; aged cheeses; changes in the weather; it's inherited. Nope. Not me. My conclusion - experience; not a theory - migraine starts with me. See? That's my finger on the trigger. Pull your chair up close and I'll tell you my whole story; from the very beginning.
I Have Migraine, eh?
So, what's the treatment, Doctor? ummm...Doctor? p. 19
What you see is only half the story. p. 91
Migraine: Force of nature, right? Wrong; it’s an inside job. p.31
(Click An Image To Read)
Just Wait Till Your Father Gets Home
Dead but not quite; on the edge; slipping; sliding; almost gone. No will; no struggle; only his Uncle Morrie's love and fierce determination are there to bring his dear nephew David back from the depths of despair; guide him through the life he's lived; reexplore his descent into hopelessness and then rebuild for him the possibility of hope; of return. Reliving in memory, in dreams and imagination the good the painful and the might have been; and ultimately with Uncle Morrie at the wheel, rising up and beginning to believe the possible; to recover his self; a future; from the almost end, back to where it all began. Let's have a cheer and a God bless Morris Stone, MD, PhD. the savior of David Miller's soul.
You're Thinking Too Much
You'll Give Yourself a Headache
"7:00 A.M.
And it is really cold.
Wreck of a cab—only one he could flag down—isn't any warmer. An old Checker now rattling its way up Sixth Avenue, not missing a pothole. Exhaust pipe dragging, windows that don't quite make it to the top; heater making more noise than warm air. He might as well be in the street running alongside…"
Why meet this early? Lou wants to; and what that little shit wants he gets. "Lots to talk about, Adam; short week; clients depend upon us; can't let them down, eh?" Solace for Adam this Monday of Christmas week? A pastrami sandwich; on rye with Russian Dressing. For breakfast? You bet. For anytime. As for Eleanor Kingman; have to calm her down. Lou's in a rage; he's going to kill me, she says. Give me a break. Lou? Kill anybody? Nah. Mmm. I can already smell that pastrami sandwich.