like at one of those carnival midway games, my mental gun is trying to shoot quickly fleeting, amorphous words from a indistinct background.
it's not working so well.
perhaps tomorrow it will work better.
or the next day.
until then, if you didn't already know, surgery stinks.
well, actually, those two hours were fine.
it's just the aftermath.
all is well, but will be weller tomorrow, and I'm just grateful it wasn't worse.