A few weeks back I posted about my journey with migraine. You can find it below. I’m not posting about my journey today.
I happened upon a really good migraine resource recently. It’s a blog here at WordPress created by a fellow migraineur. She posts insightful, creative content about how to battle migraine holistically.
I’m going to share with you the link to her first post. She is a really good writer. She’s concise, informative and helpful. If you suffer from migraine or know anyone who does, please check out her blog and pass the word along that there is a resource for those of us who battle this condition and it’s right under our fingertips.
Her site is called the mindful migraine, and her introductory post is here.
The following “spicy” story is my response to Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 2/8/24 challenge . Thanks for the amazing, inspirational art, Kevin!
Art by Kevin
Ibiza, Spain.
I walked out to the sea’s edge, dressed in my borrowed costume, the frilly hem wet from the small waves crashing along the shore. The light was perfect. I could hear the party revelers behind me, enjoying the return of their famous son, if only for a few weeks. I knew he was back there, waiting, probably watching me as I danced, and my heart filled with joy and contentment. I closed my eyes and continued to twirl, enveloped by the scent of the sensual, beckoning night-blooming flowers, the sounds of faint music and twinkling laughter, the whispers of lovers floating on a zephyr, and the assurance of an equally sublime day to follow this. They were all palpably present, and they were magical.
✨
The next evening…
We dance in the Square, under the twinkling strands of coiled lights that run from the store fronts across the way to our old world, charming hotel behind us, crisscrossing back again, forming a cozy, shimmering roof over our heads. The tiny white lights cast a warm glow onto the bright white sidewalk beneath our feet, the latter of which have no agenda other than to move with each other, and to the live music being performed in the distance. Older people stroll by, glance and smile at us, knowing him, of course, and wondering about me, the curvy, auburn-haired vixen with an American accent. He’s not a very good slow dancer, nor am I, and our height difference is appallingly noticeable, but when we dance, we laugh, and when we laugh, well…we love. And so it is: I love to dance with him.
We sway with the music as I feel him take my hand and turn my palm face up, anticipation showing itself as shivers up my spine. His head down, hair falling into his face, his smoldering eyes holding mine as he lands his sensual mouth in the center of my palm. His lips linger there for several seconds, so I feel the full effect of his kiss; I draw in a quick breath of surprise. Every nerve ending I have a screaming out to him, “Me! Me! Me! Kiss me next!” He must hear them, for his lips then travel to my wrist, where he opens his mouth slightly, and I feel the tiniest tip of his tongue dart onto my pulse point. “Oh, my,” I mutter as I breathe in another rush of air. He smiles against my flesh, I can feel his teeth on my arm as he does. He nips the skin on the inside of my arm so gently, it feels like a child’s tentative touch. By the time he reaches the inside of my elbow, I have had three shivers cascade up and down my back and have weak legs that threaten to give way. “Max…” I breathe as I stare, dumbfounded, at the top of his shiny mink-colored head, darker still in the night. His hair smells like that wonderfully fragrant shampoo I bought yesterday, and it makes me want to bury my face in it. “Shh…” he orders me and continues on his determined way. “You are trying to make me turn into a puddle of piddle, aren’t you?” He smiles again, this time against my neck, before attempting to produce what feels as if it would be the biggest love mark in the world (we’re talking Guinness Book of World Records). “Don’t make semi-permanent marks on me, Maximillian,” I warn him sternly. Then I whimper.
My voice fails me, but my thoughts rail against my skull rapidly. “You’re funny,” I manage to giggle, before he cups his broad hands around my face, and landed a decisive, almost possessive kiss on my mouth. It is rare that he kisses me this way; usually it’s not unless he hasn’t seen me in a while, or if he’s about to leave me for a while. My mind reels. I don’t know where he learned any of this, but I definitely approve. I think.
I notice now that he’s got full, dark lips in the muted light, swollen from kissing me so hard, shining with the remnants of my lip gloss. His eyes are expectant, and maybe a bit satisfied with himself, no doubt because he can see the look at my eyes.
“You like?”
I nod slightly, but nothing more
“Do you want me to do it again?”
I nod again, weakly.
He reaches for my other arm, but I stop him.
“No. You can do whatever it is you’ve just done, and yes, please, but not here. Surely you must realize the effect your mouth has on me. “
He smugly grins. “Maybe I do.”
I lean up on my tippy toes and run my hand through his hair to move it away from his ear. “Let’s go into the hotel now, Max. I really want to go now, don’t you?” I whisper in the nape of his neck. He nods and laughs once, suddenly going quiet.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he replies.
We make the short journey to the hotel then climb the stairs rather than take the elevator up to our floor. I feel a warm hand sweep under my dress to my calf. I continue to climb the stairs quickly, almost tripping.
“Wait.”
“What?” I turn, alarmed by the severe tone of his voice. When I look at him, his eyes are blue, and piercing into mine. “Oh, Maximillian, please don’t look at me like that – not here.”
“Go to the roof,” he says and moves closer, staring into me with those eyes.
“Go to the roof,” he repeats, this time with more authority.
“But I thought we were going inside.”
“First, let’s go to the roof,” he says gently, and I glance at his full lips and messy hair, and I walk myself right on up to the roof. I’m such a sucker.
“So now what?” I ask gently as I cross my arms over my chest to shield myself from the chilliness. It’s windy on the roof and I don’t want to be here. I throw a glance to the twinkling lights below, and to the stars above, and despite a 1000 watt desire to be snuggled in 600 thread count sheets with a 200 pound man, the view really is quite lovely. Alongside me is my own modern pirate, dark and brooding, and for the love of God (who/what/where), if He’s in attendance, is directly across the street shaking his head at us. And why can’t Max control the amount of testosterone he’s sending out?
Max moves closer and reaches out to touch my face; his hand is shaking, which I find peculiar. Just beyond him, I see the cathedral, illuminated by a spotlight aimed at the blue lead glass.
“Max, no.”
“Why?” He mumbles into my neck as I shut my eyes tightly to block out the church, as much as to savor his mouth on my skin.
“God is watching.” I feel silly as soon as I say it, and I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything for several seconds, he just keeps tracing the side of my face with his finger.
“God watches us always, whatever we do,” he tells me, like I need schooling.
“Yes, I realize that, but – maybe He doesn’t want to see us out here, on the roof, getting our freak on,” I attempt to explain.
“Why not?” he asks, now tracing my lips with his finger.
“Do you love me?” he asks bluntly.
“Yes. Like I love summertime and sleeping and books and dark chocolate.”
He snickers. “And I love you like I love ice cream, PlayStation, and tennis.” I have to smile at his childlike simplicity; to be ranked among those items must mean good things for my standing.
He leans against the stone wall and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to know what I think?” He asks me casually.
“Yes, I do.” I’m still studying him closely, wondering what he will say next. I never know.
“Well, I think love is God and God is love. That building is only one symbol for God; there are many others,” he says softly as he nods in the direction of the church. “The sea is God, the sky – when I am with you like this, or when you are in my arms, I feel God in these moments also, because my heart is full of love for you. Is that wrong or bad?” He asks it, but he is sure of his beliefs, so it is really only for my sake.
I understand now. My limbs feel weak, I need to lie down and my heart wants to dart out of my chest, but I get it. “You brought me here, to make love on the roof, to show the universe what our love is like; to share what we have, because you’re sure love cannot be wrong, even though there are obstacles we must overcome, yes?”
“Yes, in a way, that is part of it.” I guess I still don’t have it precisely right, and it seems like he wants to keep his reasons to himself. That’s all right; I think I understand enough. He reaches for me; I nestle into him, feeling like a child learning a lesson I should’ve already known.
“And also to share with my family who have died and my ancestors who came to this island long ago.”
“Pirates?” I ask as I rest my cheek against his chest, feeling the smooth, heated cotton scented with love. (Love is also the blazing heat of a man and his scent, and the effect of it on a woman who is under his spell.)
“Maybe” he teases. “And maybe your ancestral people are here too, or they come to visit you sometimes.” I feel his hand brush my hair and hear his voice vibrating in his chest as he talks; it transports me back to times long ago, leaning on my father’s chest, listening to his voice rumble, feeling the gradual pull of sleep tug at my tiny eyelids. It happens even now as I’m associating that memory with the present.
“Max, do you want them all to see? I mean, some things are private.”
“But it is love between us, and all the people who have come before have done what we do. It is nothing new. Besides, they see us anyway, if we are on this roof, in bed, or sitting at dinner with everyone else.”
“I kind of hope they shut their eyes at certain times.” He laughs quietly and squeezes me tighter.
“Maybe they do, but God does not.” He turns my face to his. “Are you ready to go to bed now, or do you want to talk more?” He searches my eyes and I want to get lost in his. Well, his everything.
“Yes, I want to go now.” As he takes my hand and leads me to the stairwell, I steal a glance at the blue lead window, some 50 feet away. At that moment, the spotlights flicker out and jolt back on almost immediately.
“Max. God just winked at me.” He gave me one of my own looks of exasperation executed very well, and we giggled all the way to the bed.
✨
This was a scene that came to me as an inkling of a sequel to my first novel, Love Match, tweaked a bit for this challenge. The second book has not yet come to fruition, but I hope you enjoyed this snippet.
I went to pick up my completed taxes this morning. I’ve been going to this place for a long time, and when this receptionist first started, I recognized her. I went to grade school with her for many years, through several different schools. Today was the day I decided to mention that I think I knew her.
No one from grade school or high school would recognize me now. I can pretty much fly under the radar. That’s how I got away with so many years of this woman not knowing who I was. Well, that, and we were not in the same friend group. She was very popular. While I had friends, I was not in the popular group.
She also happened to be the girlfriend of my eighth grade crush. Without exaggeration, this boy was the biggest crush I’ve ever had in my life. It extended into ninth grade, the strength of this crush. I was quite shy, and I never really had the nerve to speak to him. I freaked out anytime he was nearby. Paralyzed like Samantha in Sixteen Candles, every time she saw Jake (and, can you really blame her when he shows up in that red Porsche, girlllllll…).
I sat at the same lunch table as my crush and his girlfriend. We sat a few feet away from each other, yet I had to pretend like I was totally fine on the inside. I specifically remember one day, eating a dessert, and he was staring at me. I looked at him, then looked back at my dessert and continued eating. I am not sure what my face revealed or how many shades of red it was.
My crush was athletic. He was tall and muscular for eighth grade. He wore a San Francisco 49ers starter jacket. And when he and his girlfriend started dating, she began to wear the jacket. Can you feel my teenage angst?
After eighth grade, we went to separate schools. My crush went to a different school and his girlfriend and I went to another. I wasn’t friends with her there either, but I knew of her. In the fall of ninth grade, his JV football team was playing our JV football team and I had to go to the game. I saw him in his uniform and he was oblivious – per usual – as we walked by – me and my friend group.
Something of the allure of eighth grade had gone. The shine of the gold starter jacket had worn off. Separated by schools, and having new experiences in ninth grade, my crush faded. Don’t worry, I got a new one. There was a boy in my English class who was a skater boy, and he was adorable. Unfortunately, he moved away to Georgia in the middle of the year. I really liked him. And he was cool. (Hey, Matt, still wonder from time to time what happened to you, bro.)
Back to 2024 and taxes. I mentioned to the receptionist that I think I knew her in school. She asked me where I went to high school. Same school. I asked her where she went to middle school. Same school. I asked her where she went to grade school. Same school. I asked her where she went to third grade. Same school. I went all the way back to second grade. Same school. She said she was going to look me up in the yearbooks. She has saved them. I have, too. A guy friend of mine wrote in my eighth grade yearbook, “You should’ve asked K. to Homecoming. He probably would’ve said yes.” He didn’t know that did ask him via a friend, because I was too shy to ask directly. And he said no. He said he wasn’t going to the dance. I don’t know if he went or not, because I never did go.
I wonder when she checks her yearbooks if she will realize that I was the girl who had the biggest crush on her boyfriend in eighth grade. I guess I’ll find out next tax season.
I heard my crush didn’t turn out so well. I have not seen him since ninth grade at that football game. Or if I have, I haven’t recognized him. It’s just as well, I like to keep my memories untarnished. Just like that shiny, satin San Francisco 49ers starter jacket.
Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
Am I being serious? Yes and no.
I’m at a point in my life where I wear my bathrobe to get the mail. I answer to no one but myself. I’m sorry, that’s incorrect: I answer to the cat.
After a lifetime of not making the best decisions, I’ve backed off. What I learned in childhood taught me how to choose the absolute worst partners. Thanks, dad!
After a recent relationship ended, I decided that I would no longer be actively taking applications. It’s not that the job was filled, it’s that we’ve pulled the job off the market due to a poor candidate pool. Time to go within and heal what is wrong so I stop making bad choices.
Besides all that, casual dating is not fun for me. I don’t like it. I would rather get to know one person very well, not know a bunch of people not so well.
I’m thinking of a phrase here. I think it’s a meme. There are several iterations of it. It goes something like, “I like to be alone, but I want someone that I can be alone with who also likes to be alone.”
Yeah, that. And they have to be OK with me wearing my bathrobe to the mailbox. Because I’m not going to stop doing that.
I’ve asked the universe/God to stop sending me the wrong things. I am done with the tests. I get it. I know where I went wrong. Or if I don’t know, I’m working on it. Stop sending me somebody’s dusty ass son, universe. Please and thank you.
Oh, one last thing: I will never give up my writing again for anyone or anything.
The two songs I thought of when I was answering this prompt are: Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri, and The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. Both of these songs are my jams.
Jar of Hearts
I know I can’t take one more step towards you ‘Cause all that’s waiting is regret Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore You lost the love I loved the most
I learned to live half alive Now you want me one more time
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Who do you think you are?
I hear you’re asking all around If I am anywhere to be found But I have grown too strong To ever fall back in your arms
I’ve learned to live half alive Now you want me one more time
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Who do you think you are?
It took so long just to feel alright Remember how to put back the light in my eyes I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed ‘Cause you broke all your promises And now you’re back You don’t get to get me back
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Don’t come back at all
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul Don’t come back for me Don’t come back at all
Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are?
Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies
And if you don’t love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light
And if you don’t love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain
* in the film Chocolat, Johnny Depp’s character’s favorite chocolate is hot chocolate. But that is a film, and although hot chocolate is delicious, it is not my favorite, and it is not candy. Give me a high-quality 70% or higher dark chocolate, and I am a happy girl. Nothing against Hershey’s, but Special Dark is not special. There’s too much sugar, and it is not smooth. Belgian chocolate is the absolute best.
And as a reminder, cacao pods grow from the trunk of the Theobroma cacao tree, and cocoa comes from the seed inside the pod. Seems that no one can agree if it’s a fruit, vegetable or a nut. Just remember this: it is health food.
Two songs came to mind while I was thinking of a response to this prompt. One was Candy Girl by New Edition – a the happy little bop that I know by heart.
The second song was Under the Milky Way by The Church. This is one of my favorite songs, and it has been since it was released. I am not sure why, but I can get lost in the smoothness of that song. See what I did there? Smoothness? Milky Way?
Have a sweet day, everyone.
Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty, Sound of their breath fades with the light. I think about the loveless fascination, Under the milky way tonight.
Lower the curtain down in Memphis, Lower the curtain down all right. I got no time for private consultation, Under the milky way tonight.
Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find. Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find.
And it’s something quite peculiar, Something shimmering and white. It leads you here despite your destination, Under the Milky Way tonight.
Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find. Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find.
And it’s something quite peculiar, Something shimmering and white. Leads you here despite your destination, Under the Milky Way tonight.
Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find. Wish I knew what you were looking for. Might’ve known what you would find.
As I’m reading through everyone’s responses today, I can’t get over the similarities. Many people need a break from work, their own thoughts, life, winter, health issues, and several other valid, important reasons.
Some people don’t need a break from anything, and that’s wonderful. I’m glad you are in that elevated state of mind.
But I have to tell you. This morning, I was needing a break from every single thing that I could imagine. I had vertigo all night. I have an ear infection, which is getting worse, not better, after taking medication. I have an earlobe infection from an earring, (Ridiculous, since I’ve had this piercing for a long time…) spread to my lymph node. It is excruciatingly painful. My migraine is flared up and angry. I was in tears this morning, not knowing who to ask for help, feeling pretty desolate. I wasn’t sure how to shake it.
But I have work to do. An entire day of work. I had two sick days in the past two weeks, so no more sick days. I sat crying on my floor, thinking this is no way to live. Feeling sorry for myself. It takes a lot of strength to get up off the floor and dry your own tears. Some of the reason I did that was because my cat doesn’t like to see me sad. It upsets her, and she’s almost 16 and doesn’t need to be worried about a human. Another reason I got up was because it’s sunny today. And I remembered that the trees have buds on them. And it’s a clear blue sky and even though I feel alone, I’m not alone. As I read all of your words, I see I am not alone.
When Elmo asked how everybody was doing, and millions of people responded that they weren’t doing very well, I felt that. We all feel that. Millions of us.
Somehow, knowing you’re not alone in what you feel, is comforting.
I also fed the birds and the squirrels. The squirrels try to open the peanut jar if you leave it unattended, which is comical, but naughty.
I tried to find joy in the small things while feeling overwhelmed by the large things.
My doctor is going to give me a new prescription for my infection in my ear and my earlobe. I’ve gotten a little bit of work done. And I hope to go for a walk in the sun.
If you are hurting today, and you need a break, just remember you’re not alone – we’re feeling it too.
“It's Amy,” I said. 