There is a quadrant of my head that is pounding. Right temple, right eye. If I just stay perfectly still, it stops. Then it moves behind the ears, throbbing. The whole area is pressurized, seeking release. There is no release, only sleep.
Why am I not sleeping? I don’t really know. I have this enormous writing habit, ever since I started writing here in March. I am really resilient with habits. I cling to every silly one like a life-line. I think this is going to be a shit post, because an ear may pop off at any time. I should just go to bed.
No, I am an addict to my routine. I will persevere.
So today was a beautiful Sunday. It was beautiful before my head started hurting. I think it was beautiful, because everything that happened since the headache seems irrelevant. I think it was sort of a greyish day. A pretty evening, that might have triggered something I actually enjoyed writing about, like yesterday. Oh well. Here, the picture has more words than me tonight.
So this is an old fort that we like to go to. It has hills. Floridians like hills; we don’t have them normally.
And here is a pretty wall with a pretty village that looked pretty much the same from this angle two hundred years ago. Pretty, isn’t it?
Here the boy that scaled the sea wall, just beyond the moat. Salt air was in our faces, the boy faced his fear, life was beautiful. At least I think it was, for other people.
Here is this gorgeous coquina. It is art here. Blocks made of shells. The Spanish managed to hold a fort together for several hundred years with a bunch of crushed up oysters. Good for them.
Here we are, the sun opening up from where I stood in the moat. Kind of like the opening forming in my head. The sun finds an opening; the pressure seeks its escape. Rain and Pain. The sky matches my mood.
At present both ears are still intact. Now if I can somehow walk through the house without moving my head, all will be well.
Goodnight.