This morning I awoke at 7:20 a.m., an ungodly and implausible hour for me, with my head throbbing. Dazed and still half-asleep, I thought: I know how to get rid of this pain: eat some Trader Joe's vanilla-almond granola. As I spooned those delicious clusters into my mouth (Trader Joe's is not paying me to say that), I realized what was happening: a migraine. Fuck.

I get migraines maybe once every two months, and it sucks. Every sound is magnified. This morning a bird kept tweeting, and as a therapeutic method, I pictured my hands around its feathered neck—and then regretted my imaginary sin almost immediately.

Next I heard the rain pattering so loudly on the fire escape (or la terrasse, as I like to call it), I initially thought it was a tribe of drummers standing out there, next to our little grill, trying to drive the pain further into my head.

And those gauzy white curtains that seem so Joel Meyerowitz? They let in great, noisy streams of light that pierce my eyelids.

I do take Imitrex, but it's like setting fire to my scalp. And yet when the pain is so bad, I think, "Set that fire, baby. Burn it up." It's like my own Donna Summer song.

The only good thing that can be said of a migraine is that when the pain and nausea stop, I feel so celebratory, I want to throw a party. It's like being dead and coming back to life. Yay life!