I’ve given myself a migraine

There’s a name for people like me: TWAT!

As I sit here feeling the world vibrate — oh wait, that’s the washing machine’s spin cycle — I’m delighting in the joys of nausea. If I stand, I don’t want to stand. I stay sat. Sat’s good.

This migraine is tha’ good ol’ reliable anger one. I go KA BOOM! And viola! Migraine.

What irks me (and this is dangerous ground because irks and ires cause migraines) is that I don’t calm down until I’ve got the migraine. I rant and rave, like firecrackers going off  — new rages! Don’t cross me. Don’t underappreciate my existence. And then, in a calm moment between annoyances, my stomach sores and that bubble rises, and lo-and-behold, I can’t stand. Now unsteady and in discomfort, I calm. What would’ve annoyed me so easily a few moments before needs to work damn hard to do it now. All that had fucked me off is now seen for what it is, nothing. Little somethings, maybe, but nothing in the great big scheme of things.

It all started with a machine.

This machine is meant to make my life easier, and although it does, it cries for constant non-stop attention for the pleasure. I liken its attitude to a deadman’s switch on a train. It needs constant input or else it grinds to a halt. This would be fine if I didn’t have other things to do. It seems to forget that to make electrical motherboard things requires a little more than waiting on it hand and poxy foot.

Today, contrary to its job description, the machine decided that it wasn’t going to pick up a connector and place it on the board. It had the correct nozzles, the correct settings, and it’s even done it before. Today, though, no can do. Of 600-and-something-stupid it managed 15.

My failsafe response to all inanimate objects when they refuse to do as told is to scold, and I’m especially cutting. The more they refuse, the more I scold, until I get a hammer and give the little fuck a real reason.

To cut it short (in case of rant), I was not amused that I had to do that machine’s job. It took me hours where it would’ve taken it seconds. I don’t have much steadiness when hand placing tiny things in tiny spaces before I’m angry. Once angry, it just gets me more annoyed.

As is the habit with anger, it doesn’t stay focused on one subject. Anger gets given the go-ahead for Reason 992 and so it thumbs through the catalogue, selecting old staples and trying a few new ones.




And so now that I’m calm and actually calm, it’s very unlikely I’ll get that annoyed again today, and now that the washing machine has finally finished and the sofa’s stopped vibrating, all that anger really doesn’t seem to be worth the effort. When it comes to the little something, they can be dealt with more cleanly and be given over more authentically than that which comes with rage.

Because this anger doesn’t seem to know what it’s angry about, so it’s angry at everything, I’ve got to ask myself why I don’t do what I can do to address a few of these issues. I fester on a web of grievance, and like a spider’s one spun of silk, its supports can get snapped so easily. Snap enough supports and you’ve got some clump of web that ain’t good for nothin’.

Why, instead of getting so angry I get a migraine, do I not deal with what I can and calm myself down quicker with all the rest?

Why must I get so far before I realise I’m not dealing with all this effectively?

Tomos James