wearing my war paint

My pool is no longer green, and I have cream (instead of ice cream) in my coffee.  I can almost pretend all is right with the world for this moment.  I'll just ignore the migraine beating me up care of Hurricane Joaquin.  Fortunately, my house won't feel the physical effects of the storm, just my head.  And my body.

The meds are coursing through my veins like lead until I can barely lift my arms.  And there's an elephant sitting on my chest, until I can scarcely breathe.  But I need to soldier on like a good Migraine Warrior.  Put on my smiling face and do my job like a professional who isn't screaming inside.  No one will know that I just want to slam my head against the wall until I pass out.  That I've lost several IQ points because it's not just the head pain, it's also a neurological hurricane storming through my synapses and turning me into a literal drooling idiot.  Not sure why my mouth leaks sometimes.  Or my eyes.  I'm just happy there's no projectile vomiting this time.

I imagine my war paint looking similar to Daryl Hannah's character in Blade Runner.  That's how I feel inside, I want to go Berserker on someone.  But I won't, because I have years of practice of being a phony, an actor who plays the part of normal.  Wish me luck in fooling everyone for just one more day.  And then one more.  And another.