Suki has a headache, literally and metaphorically.

I have a headache; to be more accurate, it feels like Antonio Banderas is salsa dancing on my left temporal lobe whilst wearing those fancy pointed-toe heeled boots. Every time I try to concentrate and say to myself, "Get over it, get over it, get over it"Antonio learns some new steps and I contemplate the likelihood of my survival if I tried to preform my own brain surgery.

The easy part would be taking out the offending area; the hard part would be closing the wound with half a brain.

The real problem here is the metaphoric headache. I know that if I drink plenty of clear liquid, stay in a cold, dark room and think of shoes, take two of these and call you in the morning, Mr. Banderas will eventually pass out from exhaustion; you can only dance for so long, this is logic. Metaphoric headaches can only be cured by long hours with house plants, who don't talk crap back to you while you yell at them (unless you can find some hypothetical Tylenol at the theoretical drug store); it's a distressing fact.

The only other way to cure a metaphorical headache is to remove the head or destroy the brain. Why? Because if you have half a brain in your head (assuming you survived your Antonio Extraction), every time you turn on the TV or read the newspaper or get Tweets from Miley Cyrus, you can feel that creeping rot in your stomach. You feel that familiar sense of dread that you've convinced yourself is normal ooze into your consciousness. Pelicans dying (soaked in more oil than a funnel cake), turtles being burned alive in oil fields, genocide in some African country you can't pronounce, people eating grass in North Korea to stay alive and we're still talking about squirrels that can water-ski or that Heidi Montag is redefining "My Sized Barbie."

I feel dizzy and nauseous when I think about these things. I feel dizzy and nauseous when I moved my head too fast. I'm going to lie in a cold, dark place, take two of these and blog you tomorrow, and see what pops up on Google Maps when I try to get directions from my house to the Theoretical Drug Store.

--As a side note, I would like to give an unknowing citation to:
Louise Renison. My darling associate informs that there is a quote in the Georgia Nicholson series that very closely resembles my rant about Antonio Banderas. I have no memory of having reading this, but I trust my companion to be correct. :)