The round moon remains low in the south all night, the long shadows of the pines sweep slowly eastward, and the soft air occasionally stirs to rustle the leaves. Hours pass quietly, punctuated by a few dog barks and the chirping of a few crickets. I'm glad it's quiet. I'm in no mood for disturbances. I just realized that I'm now in the eighth week of daily (and nightly) headaches. After a while, something like that just takes over your life. Plans are disrupted, extended concentration becomes difficult or impossible, and every event is tinged by the presence, memory, or expectation of some degree of head pain. Eventually, you don't feel like doing anything at all, even when the headache isn't there.
I just chewed an aspirin. I've never been able to get those things down whole. Now I'm going to spend a couple of minutes with the ice pack, then try to get to sleep. I think the thing I'm most tired of is listening to myself think. Maybe it isn't just vertebrae out of place after all. Maybe listening to myself is what's causing the chronic headaches.
The moon is setting, and a gentle breeze, cool at last, is coming in my window. I miss the nights when I could just enjoy those things, undistracted.