Fat wzz qwik

I had a self-destruct remote a moment ago

Wellity , wellity, wellity …

Last Thursday I had two wisdom teeth extracted. I clambered onto the surgery bed and let the anaesthetist pump drugs into my hand, I felt woozy for a moment as I gazed at the ceiling.

And then it was time to slide off the surgery bed and sit on the chair in the waiting room (as opposed to waiting in the confuzzled room next door where the surgeons play ‘where’s-your-wallet?’.)

Sitting in that chair, I scratched my manly beard and noticed that my chin was numb.

‘Fat wzzz qwik,’ I manage to blubber. My tongue’s numb too.

Dad’s attention is fixated on me. ‘How long do you think you’ve been here?’

I shrug, ‘20 minutes?’

Dad shakes his head and says: ‘Try and hour and a half.’

And then manly tears flood my eyes and I wipe those manly tears with my fingers. The time lapse still confuses me as I write this. I don’t remember blacking out or waking up. The transitions are not present in my conscious psyche, dagnammit. I have a big problem with that. What the hell happened? They plucked two wisdom teeth I guess?

I recall nodding at Dad who sat directly across from me as the nurse lady person rattled off my instructions for the next week or so.

Meanwhile Dad stares at me with those eyes that could say if they had mouths: ‘yeah, yeah. You’re drunk; you’re not taking any of this in, are you?’

He’s right; a lot of that stuff must have fallen out of my ears from all of that nodding. There’s a picture with me and my thumbs up …

So yeah, a few days later and I’m off the strong codeine and am as irritable as the stockholders of C&C 4.


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