I can always tell how great a post is going to be by the number of times I change the title. The more changes, the worse it is.
“Update” was choice 9. “If it’s not one thing” was ten.
You have been warned. *whistles*
I have been off twitter for a month!
To be honest, I had surgery about three days into Lent, so I knew I’d be all doped up and unconscious for the first couple of weeks. But with the Rangers choking and all these NFL free agency moves, I was desperate to get back on last week, at which point, I discovered I’d forgotten my password.
So…still going strong! Ish.
I read the feeds of the public twitter handles I remember. But I cannot respond. I have finally gotten my screenplay software loaded, registered and ready to go! Unfortunately, all my movie ideas right now are morbid and dark. I’m pretty much going for the Oscar on the first try.
It’s been more than a month since the surgery. It was supposed to take two hours, but ended up taking 9 hours and I had to spend two days in the hospital. I’m sort of a professional surgery haver by now, so I took it in stride, served my sentence at Casa de Clare and bided my time until F-train broke me out.
At my mother’s house, she took care to feed me three home cooked meals of whole grains, meats and veg-e-tables? The woman, God bless her heart, even attempted to make “coffee” from some bottle of black crystals labeled “Folgers Instant”? I do not know what it’s supposed to instantly become… not coffee, surely. Alas, the minute I was free and left to my own devices, I think I had brownies and coffee ice cream for dinner. And as I was still on bed/coach rest, my days were mostly filled with wine drinking and television watching.
This led to my leg pain/blood clot scare, which, after the sonogram results came back negative, the doctor suggested might be due to muscle atrophy since I had been pretty active before suddenly lying in bed for 23 hours a day. Oh, and the two hundred additional brownie/coffee ice cream pounds probably weren’t helping.
The following week, I got myself a new trainer and put my stupid legs in my stupid sneakers and went back to the stupid gym… until a week ago, when I noticed something very strange…I knew it was bad cause when I showed it to my mom on Sunday, she freaked out and tried to take me to the Emergency Room. So, I went to the doctor today and he diagnosed it as a seroma.
Do not google seroma images. Seriously, don’t do it, man.
GUY! WHAT DID I *JUST* SAY?!
Anyway, the doctor originally stuck this like 4 inch needle to aspirate the seroma, but it filled up in like two seconds and he had to switch to a 15 foot needle. THE FUCK?
He’s all “you’ll feel a little pinch.” AND I’M ALL: NEGRO. I WILL *CUT* YOU. (I only had four new year’s resolutions. One of them was “stop calling white people ‘negro.’” I failed.)
So he stabs the top of the Empire State Building into my body and over the incessant screaming, he goes “so, aside from this, how’re things? Do you feel better?”
Anyway, this was all my circuitous way of asking “so what’s the best way to dispose of the body of a doctor you have murdered?”