It’s an amazing eighty degrees here today and I woke up with a migraine. I don’t get them very often, thank goodness, but this one put the brakes on any plans to bask in the warmth of the winter sun.

I don’t know what caused this debilitating headache; I didn’t do or eat anything that could have triggered it.

I hate when I don’t feel great; I’m a much better nurse to others than the one who needs a little helping hand so I’m feeling sorry for myself.

This popped up, which fairly represents my pity party. Sylvia Plath is quite perceptive.