There’s too much blood in my coffee stream

Today, thank goodness, I am feeling slightly improved from the last few days of “this migraine is strong enough I can’t deal with having a head”. Oh don’t get me wrong; I still want to trepan myself and thread ice in through the hole – migraines cause weird thoughts in desperation of making them bugger off – but I can see a little bit today, rather than relying on touch and hope.

That said, I am still left with the utter exhaustion that comes after a migraine – migraine hangover. It’s like a hangover but without the fun of gin before hand. I feel like I’ve climbed a mountain in high heels with 15kg on my back whilst having bright lights shone into my eyes the entire time, then performed a tap dance at the top, and walked down on all fours. See, this blog is worth reading just for my descriptive work.

I’m relying on a big old cup of coffee today. There is genuinely no way I could possibly function without caffeine – a full stop could go there, but let us add “today” on the end just to save myself a little bit of dignity. Yesterday I survived by sleeping at least five hours in the day time; today will be sponsored by all the coffee beans available to mankind. Once again, I am stumped as to how people who don’t drink coffee actually exist. Are they a different kind of human being? Are they aliens? WHO KNOWS. Other Half doesn’t drink any hot drinks at all, and I really do not know how. Today the need for caffeine was so great I even let go of my normal poncy fancy order and just had ALL THE COFFEE, with some warm soya milk (ah lactose intolerance, my familiar friend) and sugar. I must add that along with caffeine, there is probably too much sugar in my diet. The serious side to this is that fizzy drinks help when I’m feeling really nauseous. The not serious side is that ohemgee I love cake.

Anyway.

So right now I’m sat in Starbucks, with my big olde cup of Joe, listening to Cher through my headphones (serious side: I struggle with multiple noises at once, not serious side: who the hell DOESN’T love Cher?), typing this to you, dear reader, and wondering if I have achieved an at least momentary flicker of the teenage dream. I always wanted to be a writer, to type and hand write all the magic that words create. Crafting them on here, for people to read, knowing that there are people at the other end of this post, is something that makes me so happy. I might not yet be JK Rowling, but it’s like sharing a little bit of my soul with you.

I’ve just – as in about ten minutes ago – finished my incredible book, and am struck once again, as I am every time I finish a wonderful text, just how amazing it is we can craft words from letters, sentences from words, and books from sentences. Maybe that sounds odd, but to me it is incredible you can have a little bit of insight into the mind of someone else. What a privilege.

The downside to having finished this unbelievable book – The Handmaid’s Tale – is that I have been hit by that wave of “I can never read again, nothing with ever live up to what I’ve just read” that comes following a brilliant book. It is always a wonderful thing to be taken by this wave, because it shows the love for reading, and the value of writing, and how both of these can sweep you up, embrace you, even change you. Certainly this book has changed me. Simply by the nature of the book – the character having been separated from her child and partner – I have found myself looking at Other Half and Little Crafter with more love than ever, trying to find some value in every moment with them. A book that changes your life, however slightly, is a thing of beauty.

But – and here is the big question – what on earth do I read next?

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