Pre-surgery Blues

I can feel it coming on like a train bearing down on me, the hair on my neck standing up as if the reach of locomotive headlights had just touched the tip of my track-bound feet. My spine feels loose, as if it could be ripped right out of me by the wind like a cartoon cat devours a cartoon fish, pulling all the meat off with one hard suck and withdrawing a complete fish skeleton from it’s piehole. This is the feeling I remember, and dread, as I lay out my clothes for tomorrow’s operation.

They’ll put me under, and I will be terrified – but I won’t fight to stay awake, because I’m pretty sure being in that state of mind would be much more painful. Still, I am fitful and scared, though trying to be brave – it is a beautiful day, and if it is my last, at least I’ve lived an incredible life. I secretly promise to hold on as tightly as I can, and if it is still pried from my unconscious fingers, then I will happily haunt my loved ones’ memories.

Oh my god, all this fucking hoopla over dental surgery! What a retard.

I’ve had a pretty good time over the last few months, it’s true. I made mac & cheese and banana pudding for Booker T. Jones. I listened to what is probably gonna be the best DBT album yet being recorded in the studio. I fell in and out of love, clean as a whistle at the end. I had my entire immediate family surprise me, along with some of my most beloved friends, at my 40th birthday party. I even saw Slobberbone again.

Man, if I’m gonna be taken out by an endodontist, I deserve nitrous. That’s my theory.

Explore posts in the same categories: Uncategorized