Sparkle Vision

Anyone know what an ocular migraine is? Let me walk you through it:

You begin to notice an area of your vision is blocked by a bright sparkly area, sort of as if you'd just looked right at a light bulb, but you haven't.

As the area expands you grow more alarmed, holding your hands in front of you trying to see around the weird sparkly area. You think, "Crap, last night I accidentally looked right at that light bulb and it wasn't just any old bulb. It was that big honking sodium vapor bulb in my soon to be shop. What if I actually fried like half my rods or cones or whatever is in your eye that makes you see? Crap! Crap!"

Then you contemplate the possibility that you may have some exotic fast acting eye disease and you are actually going blind this very minute. You think about how tragic everyone will find this especially since you are an artist and suddenly panic about how stupid your hair will look now for the rest of your life, as surely no one will be able to figure out how to make it look normal or really care. I mean they could easily just tell you it looks awesome. You nearly chastise yourself for being so vain, but screw it, these are just your own private thoughts. You imagine trusty Pam, a former hairstylist, raking your hair severely off to one side and jamming a barrette into place saying gruffly, "Oh for crying out loud! It looks fine! You should be glad you even have hair. Quit being such a baby." You look like Bette Davis as Sweet Baby Jane, but nuttier.

Then as the sparkly area begins to close around your frame of vision, limiting it to an area slightly smaller than looking through a paper towel tube and becomes more "shattery" looking, like mirror fragments, you remember this has happened before. The first time it did the nurse at nurseline thought you were having a stroke. You go to the mirror and smile, peering through the sparkles to make sure both sides of your mouth go up. Check.

While at the mirror you notice a hair growing out of your nostril. Not sexy, not at all. You become distracted by this and decide to pull it out with a pair of tweezers. Upon doing this you immediately wish you were an actress and could possibly turn the resulting tear into an academy award winning performance and practice making "sad Oscar face."

Ocular migraines make can you slightly disoriented, partly because it's disconcerting having your vision so messed up, but also I'm pretty sure something is wacking-out in your noggin. You start to wonder about this and devise a little cognitive quiz for yourself. -- Quick, what's your dentist's name? You don't know. Is that weird? Do you usually know this? You keep his number under "D" in your rolodex listed under "Dentist". You probably never remember this even when normal. Quick-- What do you want for lunch today? You can't decide. Is this unusual? You decide probably not.

You know from experience unless you lay down, and, ideally, sleep for about a half hour this will become a splitting headache (think unanthesthitised dental work, somehow performed behind your eyeballs) in about an hour, so you lay down. When you get up about an hour later everything is back to normal and you decide to make your whole blog post today about this, and write it in the seldom used second person. How many chances like that do you get?

Ok-- I'll cut it out now. Happy to say I'm all normal now-- for me. Also, thanks everyone who put their two cents in on the last post. I've decided to leave it "The Slag Hammer" for now, but have made a few minor changes to my layout. You like?