“The attack is as bad as they get these days (knock on wood) and I’m completely wiped out. While the pain is only a level 4, I feel like my bones are made of wet dishrags and my mind is as muddled as the mint in a masterful mojito.” Ironic that I wrote those words Friday in a post about migraine superstitions. I’ve spent every moment since then in level 5 or 6 pain and with a brain fog so dense there’s no chance of describing it with cute (annoying?) alliteration. My rational mind knows there’s no connection between what I wrote and writing about migraine superstitions and having a migraine attack; my migraine mind suspects this is my reward for tempting fate.