Brain Freeze
We’re currently on our third arctic blast of the season. Schools are closed; some businesses are closed; life, essentially, is closed.
The only time I leave the house—and begrudgingly at that—is to make the mile and a half drive to work. I’m cooped up, yo.
Earlier this week, determined not to be made prisoner in my own home, I bundled up and went for a walk. I made it 15 minutes before a weird headache kicked in. C’mon, body, this is fresh air! The antithesis of aches!
Actually it wasn’t a headache I realized, it was a brain freeze. I wish I were kidding. My double hooded, hair covered noggin had frozen like I’d downed a 7/11 Slurpee in one gulp—but without the joy of a Slurpee.
I’ve yet to venture out for another walk... maybe I’ll try again in a few months. Sigh.
The only time I leave the house—and begrudgingly at that—is to make the mile and a half drive to work. I’m cooped up, yo.
Earlier this week, determined not to be made prisoner in my own home, I bundled up and went for a walk. I made it 15 minutes before a weird headache kicked in. C’mon, body, this is fresh air! The antithesis of aches!
Actually it wasn’t a headache I realized, it was a brain freeze. I wish I were kidding. My double hooded, hair covered noggin had frozen like I’d downed a 7/11 Slurpee in one gulp—but without the joy of a Slurpee.
I’ve yet to venture out for another walk... maybe I’ll try again in a few months. Sigh.