Mountaineering

When I was in about five years old, my kindergarten teacher asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up.  My response to her query was, "I'm gonna be a mountain climber."  I have no idea why I said I wanted to be a climber.  Maybe it sounded adventurous.  Or, maybe I was having some sort of ESP as a child and I saw the word "mountaineer" in my future, when really it was "migraineur."  :-)  What I do know is that climbing a mountain is the last thing I'd want to attempt as a migraine sufferer.  My teacher, who is a very nice lady, responded with something along the lines of, "No, you can't be a mountain climber.  You need to pick a different profession."  I remember standing there in a daze.  My hopes had been dashed.  I accepted that I couldn't be a mountain climber as a fact because my teacher said so, and started thinking about a different line of work.  Apparently I was an agreeable child.

As an adult I've often laughed about that memory.  I thought teachers weren't supposed to quash the dreams of innocent children.  As it turns out, my teacher was right.  Maybe I should send her a thank you note for setting me straight when I was young, because mountain climber would never have worked out for me.  That kind of physical activity paired with migraines would have made me a lousy climber.  I picture climbing to Mt. Everest base camp, then having to be carried back down by a Sherpa when I am rendered useless with a migraine. 

I had a killer migraine last week.  It stuck around for two very long days.  I had a ton of things to do around the house.   I could barely load the dishes in the dishwasher before having to lay down for 30 minutes before tackling the next simple chore on my list, which would be followed by more down time.  Progress on my task list was moving slower than molasses in January and my frustration was increasing exponentially with each passing hour.  As I lay on the couch my mind wandered back to my kindergarten memory of my teacher killing my dream of being a mountain climber.  Right now running the Swiffer across my kitchen floor sounds about as daunting as climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro.