No, you're ever gunna get it
Sleep, that is.
Okay I’m gunna get sleep…I already get lots more sleep than I did before…but someday _I_ will be dictator of WHEN that sleep happens, and it will be at NIGHT. Hrm.
5:15 am and I have been online for a good hour, wasting time–I mean, neing extremely productive. My dad emailed me. That rocked. He said he loved me which was very cool, and then said Anna Nicole Smith was dead. Lo and behold…she is. That’s just crazy. 39. My paternal grandfather died in his sleep at 44 and this surgery was to add a few more years to my life past that number, barring runaway trains and falling pianos.
Tonight (the night that technically ended at midnight) Court and I went to dinner at the Van’s on the Hill with our downstairs neighbors MnK. Yes, I like to torture myself around food I can’t have. The restaurant is very nice…much nicer than you’d expect from the outside or even from the doorway. White table cloth, wine list, bread and butter… Imagine if you will, a party of four. The men order beer, the women order something other than beer. Appetizers are ordered, and the house special stuffed porkchop (stuffed with italian sausage and mozzerella) is pre-ordered since it takes 35 minutes to cook. The roasted garlic arrives, and each party member picks up a tiny fork with which they will skewer roasted garlic cloves from the bulb…one of the women produces a pink-tipped baby spoon. What is this? A massive portion control maneuver?
The spoon, however, does not seem to prevent the woman from eating everything in sight, or at least trying.
Yup. It’s me. The spoon-bearing, weight gaining post MMA/GA Obstructive Sleep Apnea curing surgery.
Look for me in restaurants serving creamed spinach near you!
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