Monday, November 21, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
So I am sitting back in the ugly tan chair with the laughing gas pumping into the rubber piece sitting on top of my nose. It is uncomfortable, but I am very glad it is there. There is going to be some cutting, some blood and some pain. I have taken my first Valium in 17 years one hour before. I am not going to be put under, which I really want. So I decide I better breathe deeply. I am sucking in laughing gas like Ann Coulter sucking down coke on a long weekend. I want to be higher than Rush "the drug addict not the great Canadian band" Limbaugh when he goes on air. My Creative Zen Micro is pumping out some great tunes. I am feeling good, apprehensive but good.
The butcher comes in the room. He is smiling and has a gleam in his eye. I think about the book "Marathon Man" by William Goldman. I won’t tell him shit! I won’t say a word. Oh, whom the hell I am kidding, I will tell him anything. Just do not hurt me!
10 hours later, there is still a little blood and a little pain. I am alive and pretty much in the same shape when I went in. I think I have to change all my passwords now. Funny, my Border Collie went right to my mouth when I walked in the door at home. I have now idea how he knew. It wasn’t like I was still crying.
Posted by Timothy J at 4:55 PM