Made An Addition
Sore, sore, sore. I don't remember being this sore after they took the prostate, but then I was in the hospital for the first four days and had this button I could push next to my bed that activated a morphine pump. Checking the web they say hernias vary - there's big ones and small ones, shy ones and wry ones, citizens and sinners - but they all boil down to about two weeks of swelling and pain and six weeks of no lifting. I should have asked for two weeks disability at the office. The wuss package. I have no problem requesting a wuss package. Still, these not quite morphine but nonetheless nice pills that allow me to sleep - beep! beep! - are in good supply. No complaints. It's gone well, but, you know, I'm a little sore.
A sore bore. Boring to snoring.
Sore in and around the left testicle is never boring. You've heard the term "testy"? Do you know its derivation? Sore feets are nothing compared to sore nuts. But I digress.
While recuperating in Hollister I read Augusten Burroughs' Dry: A Memoir to my delight. I'd never heard of the author or his first book, Running With Scissors, but Dry is a really good read by a really good writer. It's about alchoholism, yes, but it's more generally about addiction and withdrawal and written in a way that just blows off the page. I've ordered Dry, to read again, and Running With Scissors from Amazon. It goes on the 100 Books List (if I ever get around to the 100 Books list). Long time since I've made an addition.
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