I don't know what to do about my head.

Maybe I could remove it for a while.

The dogs are all keyed up about the fireworks. Last year was the first year we had Steve the 80-pound mutt, and his first exposure to fireworks was over at my parents' house. It sent him crawling to the corner of their deck, where he pressed his nose into the siding and tried to see out the back of his head. This year he's taken to hiding out in the bathtub. It's tough, being a dog.

So far today I've had 1000 mg of ibuprofen. The first 600 mg kept the headache at bay for approximately three hours, but I could feel it lying at the base of my skull, gathering its strength for attack number two. It sat in the back of my throat like a coiled cobra, seething and tying itself in knots. I had spicy Indian food for dinner; that seemed to set it back some. I came home and did some work in the front flowerbeds, took a few pictures. I could feel it loosening in there. I walked around back and laid my body in the hammock and looked up at the leaves against the darkening sky for a while. I felt it loosen a little more. I came inside and the son of a bitch attacked. I don't know what it is, if it's stress from last week at work catching up with me, or sweating about six gallons this morning attacking that damned bush, or the fact that I slept badly last night, or the weather, or what. I just know I want it to stop. I can't sleep like this. I can't read. I can sit myself in front of the computer and haze my eyes half-shut and try to create some sort of coherency with my fingers on the keyboard. I'm just living in a stasis, waiting for this pain to pass so I can be myself again. Right now I'm not.