I woke up at about 6 AM to the sound of thunder. I peered between the slats of the blinds and saw 2 crows staking claim over their dominion (my front yard). Was that you Lou? Did you bring Jack by for a drink of water in the swale? I hope so.

Now, onto the forecast for my head: cloudy with a chance of pain. Nothing a few pills won't numb, if I am lucky.

We were going to go to Disney today. Haven't been in months. (get out the violins). I haven't been anywhere, other than medical obligations, in such a long time. Today was going to be a silly, forget your cares day. I was going to commune with Mickey. The storm and my head conspired against me.

I hate to harp on the Schiavo case but it has really stirred an activist bent in me. I don't want to die a long, slow death. I want control over the amount of pain and lingering I might endure. Control is big thing to me. In fact, it is one of those things that can trigger a panic attack. I'd prefer a migraine to a panic attack. I am just realizing this as I type.

My last one was as I was waiting to be knocked out for my TEE test in February. If you've never had one, count your lucky stars. They're awful. In fact, my heart is starting to palpitate as I am typing this. That's how powerful panic is. Just the thought of one can trigger one.

Change the subject! Indy is in her basket. She is a 16 year old cat, my baby. She is 13 pounds, about 70% white, 30% black. She is skittish but much better after her multiple moves after my divorce. Her birthday is April 29th (in lieu of gifts....oh never mind...). I felt good last night and chased her around the house.