Sound and light

Hear me, almighty ones who have known the overbearing power of the migraine,
I stand before thee, a lonely, sick soul having to endure the pain of the great one, combined (of course) with "that time of the month" and, as I am very lucky, the beggining of a cold.

It would be okay, yes, it would.

But that son of a b**** downstairs decided it would be fun to play his most bass-filled music.

Is it something I did? Something I said? Did I offend the gods by asking them to help me find an earth-bound job?

I seriously want to kill somebody right now. KILL! KILL!

I should've stayed in the bathtub... Apparently the room under my bedroom is a disco or something. And you know, almighty ones, that "normal" sound is a hundred times hightened when a migraine is involved. And the light of day is just killing me.

Good for me, I've started reading a book called "Women who run with the wolves: Myths and stories of the Wild Woman archetype", which is about releasing the inner Wild Woman to regain power over one's life. Well, it's not all about that, but I think that sums it up. Anyways.

Oh, now the neighbor over me has decided it would be a good time to try out the creaking floor. As in, "let's jump up and down to see where it creaks the most!"

Je devrais l'enregistrer, c'est dément.

Oh wow, now it's the vacuum-cleaner. Kill! Kill!!

*Focus* I've read a little about the author of the book, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, and she seems to be very intellectual woman, with many an arrow in her quiver. But the book does have a little psycho-crap feeling to it, so I'm trying to stay above the whole "let's connect with our long-forgotten selves" thing because I don't want to be one of those naive women who get "tangled" up in self-help books and are ultimately deceived. But I'm very into jungian theory, in which Ms. Estes is an expert, so I'm reading on.

I can even hear the lyrics to the songs downstairs. That's either very acute hearing, or just really, really lound music...

Monsieur V. doesn't mind the music downstairs, which we hear very often (but usually not so lound, I must say). He can just tune it out of his head, it's awesome. For him. I so-often wonder if he can tune me out when I'm talking...

That's another story, I guess.