I haven't really had a bad headache since early June. And it's amazing how much you can forget about how pain affects you in a mere four months.

For the past seven days, I've been suffering from a migraine that increased in intensity over that time, though it waxed and waned depending on such things as my posture (it hurt more when I laid down, oddly enough), what I'd eaten and how long ago, my anxiety level, and my involvement in another activity (some activities made it worsen; some so distracted me that I felt less pain). I had forgotten how hard it is to concentrate when you're hurting.

Not surprisingly, I wrote nothing and read very little during this time. I'm surprised that I made it to my reading group on Thursday and my writing group on Saturday, and that I managed to put together an enormous pot of soup on Thursday, including some fiddling around with a substitute for an ingredient I couldn't find. I've spent an abnormal amount of time petting the cat, and even more staring into space.

Today is the first day I feel even remotely okay again. The headache is lingering as a sort of shadow without being actively painful, if that makes any sense; it's as if it'll spring if I make a false move. I hope to research and write my usual Sunday Links post as well as a review of Diana Athill's Instead of a Letter: A Memoir. We'll see how it goes.

One thing that's been on my mind: kudos to Jay Lake, who has written throughout several bouts of chemotherapy. I would never have been able to do that, as is obvious from how I react to a mere migraine headache. It's a remarkable feat.