I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, addressing an envelope to some reader who wanted an extra copy. Nothing strenuous or overly taxing, you understand.

And then my head hurt.

It didn’t hurt before that, but then it did.

Sometimes that’s what it’s like to be me.

Nobody’s smoking around me, or wearing strong perfume. I didn’t sleep funny, and I haven’t eaten any chocolate or had aged cheese or a glass of red wine. I didn’t hit my head or change laundry detergent, and my pants aren’t too tight. Sometimes it just happens.

Thanks to modern pharmaceuticals and the best doctors money can get me in to see on a regular basis, it doesn’t happen nearly as often as it used to, but sometimes it does still happen.

I keep a fairly rigid regimen as regards my sleep and eating schedules.  I only have two bulbs in the fluorescent fixtures here in my office, relying mostly only the natural light from the windows. I would dearly love to be able to spend more time outside in the sun, but the heat and pollen might trigger something terrible, so I’m extremely judicious about when I go out there.

I worry about the dulling effects of coffee on my formerly bright white smile, but a cup in the morning seems to help stave off the morning headache, so I have one anyway, and then brush my teeth like I’m cleaning them for the queen to inspect them.

At the first inkling of my headache, I downed four Advil, which is, of course, way more than the bottle advises, because it might stop it in its tracks. If it does, I can take a pass on the one $30 prescription pill + three Aleve for the migraine, followed in an hour by the two other (cheap) prescription pills for the corollary tension headache.

At some point, my liver is just going to start screaming in protest and I won’t be fit company for all the noise.

Meanwhile, I think I’ll rattle on off and find something for lunch.