The past 36 hours or so have been a bit rough over here at Diary of Why headquarters. I was all prepared to tell you the story of My Day at the Dentist in which in order to fill two cavities, no less than three novacaine shots were necessary to numb me completely, resulting in the temporary and mildly disturbing paralysis of my right eye. Unable to close it or blink, I had to physically "blink" it with my fingers periodically in order to keep it from drying out and rendering me blind. Having a healthy fear of needles, I usually deal with this at the dentist by squinching my eyes closed tight before the needle ever makes its appearance, because I don't wish to have nightmares of giant needles coming at my face for the next six months. For shot number two I obediently once again closed my eyes, only I forgot that I couldn't close my right eye, and so I had a bit of a freak-out moment where I had a full view of that needle, a drop of novacaine glistening on the tip, coming straight for my opened mouth. At the last second I screamed and turned my head to the side, shrieking, "I can't close my eye! I can see the needle! I can't close my eye!" At which point the kindly dental assistant covered my eye for me and then taped a piece of gauze over it.
So I thought today's blog post was going to be about that, because it seemed that that in itself was already trauma enough for one day, except I had no way of knowing what would happen after my roommate's birthday dinner last night at the restaurant formerly known as My Favorite Restaurant, and now currently known as The Restaurant that Gave Me Food Poisoning. At first I thought the fault was mine for mixing cocktails and wine as I had, but it quickly became clear that although said beverages did color my vomit a spectacular shade of purple (almost beautiful, in its way), there were obviously larger forces at play. I'll spare you the grotesque details, but believe me when I say, man, there were some grotesque details. Like, the stuff I could tell you right now might just blow your mind, but I won't, because then you might never come here again. You're welcome.
I suppose the worst of it seems to be over, though I am still feeling like shit on a plate. I can't even tell you how long it's taken me just to write this much, because just sitting up is a herculean effort at the moment. Two minutes of writing requires a two hour lie-down in bed to recover, so if this post reads a little more disjointedly than usual today that's why.
Anyway, I'd like to take you back about 36 hours, back when the worst I had to deal with was some mouth soreness and a non-functioning eyelid. Ahh, how young and innocent I was back then. I took a little cameraphone footage of myself in the bathroom of the dentist's office, and I guess I'll show it to you, but please be kind. Voilà, c'est moi, in all my droopy-eyed, fat-tongued and puffy-lipped glory.
I like how I'm all, Woe is me, I can't blink my right eye! when as I am saying that I am clearly blinking my right eye. This was towards the tail end of the medication's effectiveness, but you'll just have to believe me when I say that prior to the video, I truly couldn't move my eyelid, and it was really freaky. Also, "Here I am in the bathroom of the dentist's ow-ffice." Why, hello Maryland accent! Clearly almost five years of living in Boston have done nothing for me. I swear, I don't really talk like that. In fact, I think I'll blame any drawl on the novacaine. Yes, that's it, the novacaine. Vowels are hard when you can't open your mouth!
Cheers, all, and I hope your weekends were better than mine.