Twists and Roundabouts

Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

I’m wrenched awake by a gut-churning headache.  I’m in a tent somewhere in the mountains, long before dawn, far from home.  I fumble around in my backpack for my ‘Vitamin I’ (Ibuprofen) and realize that I’m all out.  Oh, shit.

I force my agony-fogged brain to calculate.

Continuing the hike as planned goes in the ‘ha ha’ basket.  Once I get a headache like this I need drugs or I’m out of action for days.  For this reason and many others I would never have survived in the pre-industrial era.

I can drive into the nearest town pretty easily.  Problem is, it’s 4am.  Pharmacies won’t open until 10.  I could get home by then, take the drugs there, then sleep in my own bed.

Can I get home?  Physically, can I drive that far in this condition?

Maybe not, but it looks like the best of a bad set of options.  My study of the Stoics shall be tested.  I cannot control painful events, but I can choose how to react to them.  On this occasion I choose to react by spitting obscene language and by furiously kicking objects that get in my way.

Bending down is a really bad thing for headaches.  Probably that’s what extraordinary rendition camps do to suspected terrorists.  Induce a headache then scatter a bunch of irresistible goat porn on the cell floor.  You know what else really requires a lot of bending down?  Packing up a tent.  My condition worsens until I Read More