The quick and dead.

Here's the skinny of it.

My headache has reached a peak so terrible that even the great Ranier is caught in its shadow. It is slowly converting my soul to a sort of Golgotha, an execution ground for everything I hold dear. If I seem hopeless, it's because I feel it.

Here's the narrow of it.

I cannot persist in this. Something has to give and I dearly hope it is not me. I praise the Lord that I studied enough philosophy to know that whenever a problem seems unanswerable, that you must merely change the standard you are using to answer it. While imagination amidst migraine pain is a challenge, it is not an impassable problem.

It's time again to set my self, by hypostasis and ousia against this enemy. It cannot win against me. I will not let it.

I will not die.