Another one of those theories I have, but not one I’ve bothered to Google yet, because, um, my head hurts too fucking much to do it:

I’ve been a smoker for the majority of my adulthood, except for my pregnancies (for those, I’d quit until after delivery, and within a few months after, would go back to smoking again).

But I’ve never suffered from migraines except for during the time that I quit smoking (because it was bad for me instead of because it was bad for a child I was carrying). When I started smoking again shortly before my ex-husband and I separated, my migraines also faded away.

I never considered any correlation between these two things until now – because I’ve quit smoking again, and wouldn’t you know it, the damn migraines are back (and with a vengeance).

Bah. Time to go bang my head against a wall (yes, it actually helps to do that when the pain is this bad).

I’ve still got eight more years until I’m old enough to join the AARP, but knowing I’m becoming a grandmother this year has already started to impact my view of myself and caused me to think about ways I can ease into that new role gracefully, but without losing my vibrancy or attractiveness as a woman.

Jamie Lee Curtis will turn 50 this year, and is featured in AARP magazine in anticipation of that milestone (which makes her eligible for membership):

Curtis says growing older means paring down to an essential version of yourself.

“I’ve let my hair go gray. I wear only black and white. Every year I buy three or four black dresses that I just keep in rotation. I own one pair of blue jeans. I’ve given away all my jewelry, because I don’t wear it,” she says. (CNN.com/Entertainment)

So, now I have something to think about: what are the elements that define the essential version of me? And can I embrace these without winding up feeling that “fewer essentials” means “less attractiveness”?

So I went to the doctor today. This means I’m really sick, because getting me inside a doctor’s office for anything other than my annual gyno exam is next to impossible. And being really sick means:

• I haven’t bathed in days, so I stink;
• I haven’t washed my hair in days, so it’s oily, and sticking to my head in some places while sticking out from it in others;
• I have no makeup on and have not tanned in about a week, so I look kinda pasty;
• I have really bad chills, so I can’t feel my fingers and toes, which makes me clumsy and awkward;
• Did I mention that I stink?

So, when I’m leaving the doctor’s office, there’s another patient waiting, some young guy. I only noticed him because he was sitting in the chair right near the front desk where I had to check out, and I wasn’t there long anyway. I walked out and drove over to the nearby pharmacy to get my prescription for antibiotics and some Mucinex (yay for flu and upper respiratory infection!).

Because nothing is ever easy when you’re so sick that all you want to do is hurry up and get home so you can lay down, there was a problem with my insurance card at the pharmacy that took quite a while to figure out. Before I knew it, there was another customer behind me and guess who it was? Yep, yep, same guy from the doctor’s office.

Then he started talking to me, and (unless my illness has affected my ability to gauge social interactions), it seemed it was more than just talking, I think he was actually flirting with me!

Wow. If I can get hit on even when I’m at death’s door, then I guess there’s still hope!

This is the second time in as many weeks that I’ve run a fever after having been out in public for an extended period of time. Maybe I’m not meant to be around people.