1. I’m high as a fucking kite. One percocet every four hours - I make no sense whatsoever. It’s taken me 15 minutes to write this sentence.

2. From intubation for 4+ hours, I have scratchy voice, and I can’t cough or laugh without screaming from pain due to a few miles of abdominal stitching. I’ve missed sexy by a long shot and have landed square in ass banshee territory.

3. I can sit, and I can stand for a bit of time, and I can sit down, but standing up from a seated position makes me shriek.

4. I have antibiotics, pain killers, anti-nausea drugs, and stool softener, and I have to drink lots of water and eat lots of fiber. I predict that even with all that, I won’t poop until October. 2010.

5. Drains suck. But they’re draining. Which means I have to empty them. They’re big plastic bulbs that hang off my bandage in the front like giant see-through testicles. I’m sort of enjoying that part.

Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to anaesthesia? Yes?

Too bad.