Back!

After a lengthy recovery and many return trips to the pharmacy, I am heading back toward the world of the living. Sorry for delaying.

So half of the inside of my face is missing. Sounds like I'm deformed, but no. I am even prettier now than I was before, if you can imagine that. Well, it's not missing, per se, as much as it has been removed from my person. And yes, I did ask if I could keep the things they took out right before I went under the knife. At that point the anesthisiologist was well into doing his thing, and I only remember hearing the following words: "hygienic," "illegal," "suit," and then there was darkness. And then I woke up and my visage was covered in bandages. My head's turning radius was small, granted, but I'm pretty sure I managed to scan the entire receiving room, with nary a test tube nor Petri dish nor Mason jar with my organs in it in sight. I'm pretty sure everything went the way of the bio-hazard pail. Sorry folks. Pretty much everything from then until a few days ago was a fuzzy Vicodin haze. Yes, I have leftovers. No, you can't.

Oh, I do remember performing a bit of home surgery around Day 14, and again at Day 25. Took out my own stitches, the latter time in a particularly mucuous fleshy bit. Note to readers: swallowing large quantities of own blood will lead to a stomachache no amount of Tums will cure.

The hours were many to pass, and only in the confines of my tiny New York apartment, so there won't be many pictures to share. I did, however, manage to snap this for my brethren in loofahing. It's OK, Fist. It's gonna be OK.