I tried to wean off the Topamax. Yeah, that didn’t work so much.

So, I had a brainstorm that involved me breaking up with Topamax. It wasn’t the Topamax. It was me. I just didn’t like the way I felt when I was around the Topamax, etc. and so forth. So, I took Topamax out for a cup of coffee and told it that we were through, and I thought I caught a smirk on Topamax’s cap, but I just assumed that Topamax was feeling confident that it could change my mind during the extensive weaning period. Hey, guess what? Topamax was right. The migraines started to get monstrous when I got down to 1/4 of a pill. Did you read that correctly? Yes, you did. 1/4 OF A PILL!!!! So, I made the climb back up to 1 pill of 25 mg. at which point I very firmly stated, “I’m holding here, Topamax. You got that?” to an empty room because I’m a bit of a nut and decided that the foggy brain was going to be ok if only to avoid the migraines so intense that I was forced to lie in bed and attend multiple very sad pity parties hastily planned by me and which basically amounted to a Gilmore Girls marathon of epic duration and a very, very sullen adult woman scowling at the dark room and grumbling unintelligible words at various intervals.

And now I’m back throwing strange words into conversations that don’t belong in there. Words that my brain has decided to substitute for the correct word. And I’m not sure if it’s the Topamax that I should blame, or my brain. After all, my brain is a bit sassy and enjoys keeping me on my toes. But the Topamax does have a bad rep. Anyway, I’ve landed on placing the blame on my brain with an accusatory finger pointed at the Topamax for the obvious assist. I’ve decided to place a large part of the blame on my brain because it seems that she does this most often when I’ve been a little lax about using her to her fullest potential. So, I’ve decided that she’s either punishing me for not letting her out to play, or she’s just so unbelievably bored that she can’t help herself. She’s so starved for entertainment of some sort that she’s decided to throw bizarrely incorrect words into conversations so she can check out the reaction shots from the people forced to deal with my particular brand of weird.

I’m very happy to report that the most egregious of the recent word substitutions she’s saddled me with have all been showcase items for family members only.

  • The kids asked me what we were having for dinner. Brain: Algebra! And yes, with the emphasis. I WAS just thinking about JT’s algebra class a couple of minutes prior, so that one is slightly more understandable than the next.
  • I was telling my parents about some sort of program offered at a local community college which is NOT called General Sargeant Reynolds as my brain shouted out when the time came but IS called J. Sargeant Reynolds. Nothing explains that one.

 

 

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