*Megdy* my mouth is sewn together, but still i talk
You know how sometimes you do something or something happens and it makes you suddenly realize something? Even though that something may have been something obvious? Do you want me to stop using that word?
If you answered yes on both counts, continue reading. (If either was a no, go have some pie.)
So I'm sitting in my first class of the semester: Intro to Black Lit. and the teacher passes out the syllabus. Class discussion is stalled at instructor history and a brief explanation of the various Congos (French, colonial, Belgian) and their capitals when, to satisfy a suspicion that I have read a least one of the required novels, I flip ahead to the reading list.
This is were the realization hits. We're reading six novels. And this makes me happy. I repeat, my only Intro class is reading six novels, and this makes me so happy that I start grinning right there in my seat. And I've got stitches in my mouth that pretty much prevent smiling.
Six.
So you know what this makes me realize? Maybe I ought to be an English major after all. (Which I am, for the forgetful in the audience.)
For the record, I was right too, I have already read Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart.
But not in a cool flying back knife-hand to the head way or anything. In a strictly needle-in-the-arm/medicine-to-the-brain way.
I got my wisdom teeth taken out last Tuesday, and for it I was "unconscious but awake." That's how the surgeon put it, but he's full of shit. Cause I was so completely not unconscious. Sure, I did dose off at first. Slept through a lot of the prep work and the initial cutting, but I woke up just in time for the drilling and the wrenching out of all four embedded teeth. And the stitches, can't forget to mention I was awake when they stitched my mouth back together.
It was very wrong. As soon as I woke up I took to staring at the surgeon and nurse as intensely as I could. I was attempting to get across that, yes, I was awake and, yes, that meant they should give me more drugs. I think having your mouth wide open and bleeding while you glare curbs the effect.
But really it didn't hurt and it doesn't now. My cheeks feel a bit like iron and I haven't had solid food since last Monday (I can't even eat jello.) but it's not bad. I even stopped taking the medicine they gave me on Saturday so that I could regain the ability to read and thereby enjoy a little of my time off work, but that's over with and it's back to work and school with me. As long as I don't yawn or smile or talk very much the stitches won't make me their bitch. And the couple days I spent in a drug-induced haze allowed me to learn quite a bit about Hilary Duff, so we're all winners here.
If you answered yes on both counts, continue reading. (If either was a no, go have some pie.)
So I'm sitting in my first class of the semester: Intro to Black Lit. and the teacher passes out the syllabus. Class discussion is stalled at instructor history and a brief explanation of the various Congos (French, colonial, Belgian) and their capitals when, to satisfy a suspicion that I have read a least one of the required novels, I flip ahead to the reading list.
This is were the realization hits. We're reading six novels. And this makes me happy. I repeat, my only Intro class is reading six novels, and this makes me so happy that I start grinning right there in my seat. And I've got stitches in my mouth that pretty much prevent smiling.
Six.
So you know what this makes me realize? Maybe I ought to be an English major after all. (Which I am, for the forgetful in the audience.)
For the record, I was right too, I have already read Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart.
But not in a cool flying back knife-hand to the head way or anything. In a strictly needle-in-the-arm/medicine-to-the-brain way.
I got my wisdom teeth taken out last Tuesday, and for it I was "unconscious but awake." That's how the surgeon put it, but he's full of shit. Cause I was so completely not unconscious. Sure, I did dose off at first. Slept through a lot of the prep work and the initial cutting, but I woke up just in time for the drilling and the wrenching out of all four embedded teeth. And the stitches, can't forget to mention I was awake when they stitched my mouth back together.
It was very wrong. As soon as I woke up I took to staring at the surgeon and nurse as intensely as I could. I was attempting to get across that, yes, I was awake and, yes, that meant they should give me more drugs. I think having your mouth wide open and bleeding while you glare curbs the effect.
But really it didn't hurt and it doesn't now. My cheeks feel a bit like iron and I haven't had solid food since last Monday (I can't even eat jello.) but it's not bad. I even stopped taking the medicine they gave me on Saturday so that I could regain the ability to read and thereby enjoy a little of my time off work, but that's over with and it's back to work and school with me. As long as I don't yawn or smile or talk very much the stitches won't make me their bitch. And the couple days I spent in a drug-induced haze allowed me to learn quite a bit about Hilary Duff, so we're all winners here.