Pushing Through and Pushing On

Bad advice I receive from everyone: Push Through

God. I hate that phrase. "Can't you just push through it?"

No Jessica I can't fucking see, I obviously can't push through this.

But, what on earth do I keep doing? Pushing through it.

I started my new job Sunday... I was shocked. I woke up and there wasn't a hint of pain. I kept waiting all day for that pain to show its ugly smile. It never came. Nausea showed its ugly face. I'll put it off to nerves of starting new and not knowing what to do. That all wore off after lunch. But that sharp stabbing pain, didn't come.

32 hours of pure relief. What a concept.

But let me tell you, Memorial Day I crashed. I woke up in that all too familiar pain. I spent a few hours conning myself to get out of bed. Then a few more convincing myself to not go back to bed.

Come new job day 2, and I didn't wake up feeling fabulous, but after being up for a bit I was feeling okay. I got through day 2 with no pain.

I actually sat down and thought woah. What if a new job that is actually my dream job is it. This new perfect slice of life I have discovered. What if this is all I needed and my migraines aren't real?

Wrong. The honeymoon died.

Which brings me to pushing through.

Gosh I wanted to call out so badly this morning. My head just pulsed and pulsed all day long. I also spent all day with a wonderful trainer. Quick talking. Talks with her hands. Energetic. Loud. In an already loud design center.

I literally moved to Wisconsin to get away from hurricane season... and what do you know the first hurricane of the year decided to run its course straight to me. In fucking Wisconsin.

But I pushed through. I learned all about our largest upholstery collection and had my second official customer. I actually didn't want to leave by the time my shift was over because I was having so much fun with the learning exercises.

So tonight I'll take a note from my good friend F. Scott Fitzgerald. I'll push on, even if the current is against me.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

A.

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My Life. My Migraine.

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