Feck
It’s being quite a strange week. I must be living in some parallel universe (maybe like an avatar of myself) and having my life broadcasted so I can watch myself helplessly doing nothing at all.
Strange as it sounds, which (by the way) it really does, it has a good explanation. Past tuesday I had three sebaceous cysts removed by surgery. It’s a simple operation, they make a small cut, remove the staff and put some stitches to help the wound scar. Problem arises when the fecking cysts are behind your ears and anesthesia doesn’t work as it’s supposed to. You can feel the scalpel working your skin; and that damn needle… whish, whish.
But this is not really too much, provided you are not pain-phobic like me myself (there are other ways of putting it, but I won’t even consider that vocabulary in my blog; not applied to me at least). Well, as I was saying, have you ever tried to sleep with stitches on both sides of your head? No? It’s high time you tried. Really, that’s an experience. In case you get to sleep, please, tell me how. Two days in a row with no sleep, apart from the usual quarrels with Morpheus.
At least, the pain is diminishing, I hope/beg/would kill for a good sleep tonight. Have some unneeded lorazepam? Here’s your opportunity to get rid of it. Get in touch…
Moving to more musical and less painful matters, could someone recommend something? I’ve just listened to Craig David’s new album and, geez, not that his first album was genius or something but, geez, this is soooo lousy (borrowing from Graham Norton). I’m now listening to The Go! Team, just out of curiosity, after my mate Marcos commented on it, following word from his Scottish friend Kellie. Sorry, people, they don’t really work on me, though they’re worth listening to. I think I’ll download a preemptive backup of Ms Dynamite’s new album, Judgement Day or of Floetry’s Flo’Ology. Back to urban, I guess. Had forgotten about that since UK garage died quite a while ago.
Some poetic relief to finish today. I’ve chosen one of my favs, from W.B. Yeats’s The Second Coming:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
