The sleepiness has worn off for the time being, but, thanks to my pain-killing medication, I can allow it to return at will. My memories of the entire ordeal at the oral surgeon's office today are considerably fuzzier than my cat, but I will do my best to explicate all the excitement. First, I was given some nitrous because it would "make me feel at ease." And how! After a couple minutes of breathing in the stuff, I was ready to fly out the window and survey Pleasantville from a few thousand feet. If my right arm hadn't been restrained as a precautionary measure to prevent muscle spasms from the medication, I could still be flying. What a great feeling. Damn, I wish I were a dope fiend. The sedative medication, which the surgeon told me was like Killian's Irish Red straight to the bloodstream, did its trick in a few short moments and the next thing I knew, it was an hour later and I was being encouraged to "hold on to the wall."

I was given two different prescriptions--one to prevent infection and one to reduce pain, which comes with happy sleepy time. Hooray. The numbness in my mouth has been replaced by a dull pain, and I think I have finally cleaned off the blood I drooled on myself (what a sexy picture I was, too. Take your pick, I was either a heavily-sedated chud or I had just been hit in the mouth during an exciting fight scene in a movie--I prefer the latter and you should see the other guy).

While recovering in the big reclining chair, I was able to read a nerd publication (Phi Beta Kappa stuff) that I get periodically. I like intellectuals, and one of the letters to editor hit on something I've harped a lot about lately. "People need to learn how to think, not what to think. I couldn't agree more.