Tomorrow, I'm going to let a man slip me some drugs, and play with my mouth for a while. What's worse is that he's going to hand me a bill afterward.
Horrible, isn't it? I've got a wisdom tooth that decided to go west instead of north, and now, at thirty years old, when I'm supposed to be over this kind of stuff, I'm stuck having oral surgery.
The good thing is that they'll put me out for the whole ordeal, and provide me with enough painkillers to keep me nice and loopy for the rest of the weekend. The bad thing is that eventually, the painkillers will wear off. I've always been a fan of Mamma's Little Friends, and my tolerance for pain or discomfort (i.e. splinters, paper cuts etc) is notoriously low.
Oh God. And then there's the coming off of the surgery, when all the sweet sleep-inducing stuff leaves your body. I had this done about ten years ago, and I remember that it was a week of... stoppage... because of the codeine, and then there was a cold, and a cold sore, and a general feeling of not-wellness, and if I'm not mistaken, phlegm.
I was dating a boy at the time, who was kind enough to pick my sedated, half-conscious arse up from the oral surgeon, and drive me home and tuck me in and get my prescription filled and bring me movies and flowers and love. I was also in a community theatre show at the time, and had taken to flirting with the stage manager on our take-fives. So, you know, karma. I figured I had the discomfort coming to me.
However... however... I'm now dating no one, have not stepped on a stage in years, and haven't flirted with anyone in a long time, due to my current dead-on-the-inside state of being. Therefore, if the post-surgery days are as uncomfortable as they were the first time, I'm going to be totally ticked off at the universe.
Logic is way over-rated, poppets.
Wish me luck.
0 comments so far