While most of my writer friends are heading out to BizzaroCon for the weekend, I'll be heading out to see my family in Vegas. I'm sure I'll pop in here and there, but for the most part, expect radio silence until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday (since when I get back, I'll be undergoing oral surgery). I'm not going to be writing, either, not even GF. I'll probably write in my travel journal, but that's it. In the meantime, behave yourselves, and don't die. I like you all, and I'd be sad if you weren't around anymore.
Now I've got to get to bed. The cab is coming at 4 in the damn am.
Part of me hopes that the oral surgeon will prescribe pain pills for me. Another part of me hopes she won't. I know I can easily turn into a junkie. I'd suck cock for Dilaudid, hands down. The pain pills don't do much for me, unless I triple the dose. Then? I'm very happy. But I have maybe ten pain pills left from a surgery performed a year ago. I'm pretty sure that's evidence that I haven't turned into a junkie. Yet.
She won't do it, though. She told me the procedure is 10 minutes long. 20, tops. She'll just numb my gums a little--A LITTLE--before she cuts a piece off the roof of my mouth and grafts it on to tooth #26 (so my receding gums don't look quite so scary anymore). That doesn't sound like something she'll give me pain pills for. She'll probably advise aspirin. Fuck.