I'm sick of ice-cream

As it happens occasionally, it's once again time for a feel-sorry-for-myself post. It has nothing to do with writing, editing, publisher-hunting... In short, it's not book related. I just need an outlet for my inner turmoil.

My current turmoil is mildly inner and mostly outer, since I'm moaning my butt off. My mandibular third molars a.k.a. wisdom teeth have chosen this year to take a look at the world, and apparently they don't have much space to take that look, hence it's an all clear sale in my mouth, just to be safe. Two months ago, I had one pulled and everything was just hunky-dory.

Yeah, right. One down, three to go.

And those three are not as accommodating as the first was.

Today, for example, I had one of those pesky three left surgically removed. The stitches are coming out next week. At first I didn't feel a thing - duh! - but after the local anesthesia wore off... Ooh, boy.

Half of my face is swollen, it hurts to open my mouth, and I'm considering getting a bib, my jaw hurts, and I keep brushing against the stitches with the edge of my tongue. And I have a nasty suspicion my eye is going to hurt like hell in the evening.

So basically, I have to keep my mouth shut, my family and friends love that one, and ice-packs on my cheek to keep the swelling down - good luck with that one, I already look like a balloon.

So why the strange post title? Well, the only thing that numbs the pain - besides painkillers, which are scheduled just before bed time, I don't want to get too high - is ice-cream. Gallons of it. I've probably gulped down more ice-cream today than in my whole lifetime, and I'm pretty sure the ice-cream industry will owe its annual profits solely to me. My hips and bum are already protesting and the ice-cream has long ago lost its taste, but I'm stubbornly hanging on.

So yeah, I'm having one heck of a day.