i'll trade you one fallopian tube for all the morphine in the world

i picture my body broken up in little people, thousands of them, marching together in protest. en révolte. one batallion in my lower abdomen, another behind my eyes, lodged in my skull. they likely have pitchforks, because i feel them stabbing up there. 1200mg of ibuprofen was met with laughter, if i were crazier, i'd hear it. in between uproars, i long for the day when i haven't much to worry about, and i can spend cold dark afternoons hiding under a duvet, stealing my lover's warmth [with every intention of returning it somehow], with the window wide open, defeating all purposes but the one to have a reason for us to remain in bed. and unleashing auditory assaults on the neighbors and schoolchildren.

but tonight, i remain in my personal space. for no other reason than to keep the casualty count to a minimum once my head explodes. part of me (ok, the whiny baby part) wishes i had someone looking after me, with special magic abilities to end my pain. it will cease throbbing eventually. and once it does, perhaps we can devise a plan to do what we want, regardless of consequence....credit bureaus, haters, employers, the government! somber winter days, bedtime forever! hot chocolate and whiskey, sex and massages, bite marks and scratch wounds!

i'm really fucking cold.