We finally have cooler weather in the mornings and evenings. This morning we actually had cold weather when I woke up, and I was giddy like a little girl on Christmas morning. (And Christmas is indeed coming.) Many of my Northerner friends reading this are suppressing knowing smiles at this because, yes, when the weather in West Texas drops below seventy-five, we pull out our sweatshirts and hoodies. (No hyperbole there–this Thursday? Seventy-three degrees and everyone’s breaking out his new Red Raider hoodie.) But I think we can all agree forty-one degrees (feels like thirty-five, according to Intellicast) is cold enough to turn on the heater in the icebox-esque apartment and make myself a cup of hot cocoa to start the morning. I was thrilled.
Additionally, for the first morning in a few days (feels like forever, according to my sense of sanity and well-being), I woke up without a vice gripping my skull or a sledgehammer or icepick tapping and slamming its way through my brain. All this to say my headaches are worsening dramatically, have been for over a month, and my sanity is going right along with it. I have been quite literally handicapped, as I can’t do my schoolwork or any housework or run any errands; I can hardly roll over in bed without feeling as if I’ll throw up or my head will finally explode or crumble.
It occurred to me the other day, in my unsinging-caged-bird state, if I was going through this a couple hundred years ago in England, my headaches would likely be called “spells.” And when polite company came to have tea with my parents, they’d say in hushed voices, “Please excuse our Rebecca. She’s having one of her spells again.” And others would whisper in corners at dinner parties about the Nolte girl’s “condition.” Um. Where was I going with this?
I really haven’t watched Pride and Prejudice in awhile. I’m not sure what made me think of all that. Perhaps it was a result of my condition.
And all this to say when I woke up this morning headache-free, I said a word of great thanks to God and decided to run through the streets singing. Alas, the forty-one (feels like thirty-five) degree weather outside and the icebox-esque feeling inside stopped me, and I settled for bundling up, preparing to spend the morning reading in bed with Philip Roth and hot chocolate, and whispering, “Oh my gosh, I’m so happy.”

The only other thing worth mentioning (as if any of this is) is my new fondness for Kathy Griffin. That woman is so hilarious, words can’t even describe. You should expose yourself to her (not as in a get-naked-in-front-of-her way, but as in a watch-her-comedy-routines-and-shows way). Oh, geez. She’s so funny. I want to hang out with her. And Mariska Hargitay.

That’s it.
Christmas is coming!

Peace, love, and cold, cold weather. And hot cocoa. And Philip Roth. And Kathy Griffin. And Mariska Hargitay.