All We Want To Do Is Eat Your Blog
(It's not unreasonable. I mean, no one's going to eat your icons.)
2008 seems to have it in for me. At least January does. I'm beginning to suspect that the end of the year is going to be phenomenal, and as a result all the counter-balancing unpleasantness is being squeezed in the first few months.
About 3-4 days ago, I woke up only to discover I'd managed to tear a small chunk out of my tongue. Don't ask me how it happened. I still don't know, and I'd love to find out if only to build a time machine, go back 3-4 days and stop this from happening. So now my tongue is in the stage of healing I can only describe as exquisite pain. Granted it's a little hyperbolic, but depending on what I ingest, it feels as though I can sense a few hundred nerve endings in the wounded area, and they are all very angry with me.
This wouldn't be too problematic, but there's more. I'm guessing that in the first day or two, I subconsciously chewed on the inside of my cheeks in order to make sure my tongue didn't get crunched between my teeth as I sleep. And all that has led to some variation of swelling and blistering on either side of my mouth, making for even more pain and a general inability to digest anything that can't be sucked through a straw.
(Soup for the win?)
I can tell that things are healing. That's always a good sign, but I rather miss being able to eat solid food and having a mouth filled something other than stabbing pain. And the talking. There's a karmic bitch that's coming back to bite me. Due to the placement of my current wounds, talking could be best described as: "please don't do it, it hurtses us." Naturally, my job just has to feature me talking to a great many customers over the course of a single shift. Dammit.
I can manage the talking, it's just that I sound like a special needs kid, or that I have the lisp from hell. The longer I can go without talking, I'm hoping the faster it'll heal. But, customers being customers, they're having none of that and are insisting on stopping by and asking many an insipid question.
Mel's a bit divided over the whole thing, spousal concerns for my well-being notwithstanding. Sadly, I'm rather limited in talking, so conversing with me has grinded to a near halt. On the other hand, she's been cheery over the similar halting of my smart-ass comments. (I've been trying to hone my Silent Bob miming skills, but all it gets me is a
she's enjoying this far too much "Timmy's in the well again, isn't he?" response.)
And the drooling. Dear lord, the drooling. I don't know why, but the current state of my mouth has resulted in a near catastrophic overload of saliva. I feel like every 5 minutes, I'm having to swallow another mouthful of spit, or hack it out into a sink. I'm starting to feel like the dog from
Turner & Hooch, only without the need to tackle someone who's brought me a muffin.
Hm? You've had enough descriptions of my ailing body?
Okay, fine, but you don't know what you're missing...
Labels: with teeth (but without tongue or cheeks)
posted by Phillip at 8:49 PM
