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We Are All in the Same Boat

No fun, gang.

There you are; In your pj's ready for bed and a good night's snooze.

Then bing! that certain feeling; a kind of ZZZ in the stomach or a WHAA in your neck or a WHOA when you straighten up after putting on or taking off your shoes; maybe a OOO in your lower right abdomen; like a swerve; something's out of whack; a little off; enough so that you exhale; pause; maybe a little knowing smile and nod to yourself.

That's not Santa on his way; gifts for all; a big HoHoHo Merry you know what.

No sirree-bob; it's your lifelong pal, Migraine; ready to rumble.

So, bright eyes, whaddya do?

Biggest deal is that SOB with a grin a mile wide and a brand new electric drill to go to work on the right side of your skull; right side? left side? smack in the middle? he's laughing already.

Or, maybe another guy with a giant egg-beater in your stomach—no idea how he got in there—so you can toss your cookies all night…

Or another guy fitting a clamp around your brain; one squeeze and you're on your way to weirdsville.

Or for me? it's the guy with a portable merry-go-round hooked up to the room ready to throw the switch and Whee! it's vertigo time.

Don't have to tell you; Migraine's got an infinite number of ways to keep us jumping; or moaning; or absolutely, totally, down for the count.

So what do we do? How do we fend off the mob? Play defense? I mean, what defense is there? Can't just go off in a corner and suck our thumbs; I mean what kind of message is that to the family; friends; the family dog? Mom Dad Big Bro Sis—a bunch of wimps; moaning and groaning.

Well, number one; I recommend a little self-pity; not too much, just enough to remind anybody who even cares that Hey! There's a guy under that bed and he just keeps saying Help.

And number two: Move the cocktail hour up to whatever time it happens to be.

The sound of ice cubes rattling in a glass always cheers me up.

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