Susan Powter, Sweeny Todd and sundry.
So! another round of asshattery over at the hospital tomorrow. They're going to give me general anesthesia and (so they claim) figure out what's wrong, and if they find anything like a fistula or the face of strawberry shortcake on my lower intestine, they will cut it out. I shall keep the remenants in a little jar. Their name shall be squishy and they will be mine, and they will be my squishy. Seriously though, I'm rather nervous about me being knocked out, the analysis performed, and THEN the decision to start going Sweeny Todd on my abdomen, but if I were to wake up first they say that my wait could be five months or so. so whatever. I'd just rather have a bit of input on the decision. I mean, what if they mix the charts or something up, and I wake up with the face of Marylin Monroe and the body of Susan Powter? Mind you, I think she was more buff than I am so perhaps I shouldn't complain. anyways, yeah, I should be out of there by friday in the best case, and saturday or sunday at the worse, and I've got dear ol' Terry Prachett's new book "Making Money" to keep me company. Is it me or does anyone else picture some russian princess in a military outfit when they hear the words "general anesthesia"?. oh well, must run. I haven't eaten in a few days, and I had to stop myself from swallowing that bit I chewed off of a pencil. it'd take a bit of explaining, I daresay.

Love, kisses, and if you're really sexy, chloroform.