I am feeling sorry for myself, I am going to have a whinge. Whinge, by the way, is not a word according to spellcheck, and yet I grew up with whinge, whinging, and my favourite, whinge-bucket, being widely used terms. Armed with the rock solid belief that I AM RIGHT, I have turned to the internet for validation, and lo Merriam Webster hath confirmed: whinge is a real word. Merriam Webster has also taught me a few new fabulous words I didn’t know: sialoquent – one who spits while talking; snotter – a person who breathes, snores or any other form of noisy inhalation and exhalation; and groak – to stare silently and longingly whilst someone eats in the hope they will share their food. Spellcheck does not recognize any of these either. You know.. this is not the first time spellcheck has sought to undermine my confidence. I suspect it knows my struggle to remember the difference between American and and British spelling and is mocking me. Artificial Intelligence has been here for a while folks.
But back to whingeing.
There I was excited and feeling supercharged for the weekend, and then just as I was going to bed on Friday night, I felt it.. the first warning twinge of a headache. Oh hell no I thought, glugging down water, not on my weekend! But it was too late and I woke up to the irritating pain that starts somewhere on the top right side of my skull, saunters down behind the eye then runs down one side of my nose into the cheek bone and throughout the day progresses into my teeth. The one that makes you move ultra slowly. Bending down to pick something up becomes tortuous – did you drop 10 dollars on the floor? Bid it a fond farewell and hope it has a happy life because you’re not going to make it down to the floor and back up without your head exploding. The pills don’t work, water doesn’t work, food doesn’t work, sleep doesn’t work, exercise doesn’t work, aromatherapy doesn’t work, tenting your head over a bowl of steaming water and eucalyptus oil doesn’t work, and yet still I tried them all.
I went to bed on Saturday night hoping that for once it wouldn’t last a second day, woke up a couple of times in the middle of the night thinking, “Bugger, it still hurts.” Morning came and it still sodding hurts. There’s part of me thinking, “It’s just a headache, it’s not a real problem, it’s not life and death, it’s just an irritant like a dickhead driver not taking turns at the stop sign. Stop being a baby!” But then there’s the other part – which clearly today is winning – that’s whining like an ambulance siren, “But it’s my weeeeeeeeeeeekennnd. It’s not fair!”
Okay, whingeing time is over.
In other news, I passed by a witchcraft shop the other day (witchcraft in Burbank, it seems ever so slightly out of place, like rodeo riding on the lawn of the White House. There’s space for it but it’s not what you expected to see) the sort of shop you never notice when you’re driving, but on foot you think, “Hmmmmn… that’s looks intriguing, I’ll just pop in for five minutes.” I ended up spending an hour and a half in there because it took all of ooh, 90 seconds, for the proprietor and I to start talking politics and gun control, and then I end up hearing a substantial part of his life story which turned out to be fascinating, and I do find people very interesting. Turns out, this chap worked in security for more than a decade, and owns several guns. He was able to explain in intricate detail how much damage can be done with a semiautomatic hand gun and an AR 15 (the same apparently, but people buy ARs because they look more menacing. I don’t have a clue about any of this, all guns look menacing to me. I’m very intimidated by police officers carrying guns in the USA, by contrast the truncheon carrying police in the UK always seemed quite approachable).
Yet he is also a cross-dressing, liberal minded, Democratic witch, Europhile, fully supportive of gun reform.
Fascinating right? Next time I shall take a flask of tea and a pack of Hobnobs with me.