Eviction Notice: Stabby McStoneful

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I will be liberated from the wretched gallbladder that has held me hostage under its reign of terror - and indigestion - for the last month or so: Stabby McStoneful. I've named her (yes, her) Stabby McStoneful for two reasons:

Disjointed Thoughts. Brought to You by Percocet

This is not a real post. I just have some thoughts rattling around my brain that I needed to get out before I could sleep. Tonight I had some realizations: 

I cannot be trusted with anything from Papa Johns. 

Since my gallbladder attack a few weeks ago, I have been really good about avoiding fatty and spicy foods. (They are triggers for an attack, which feels like a demon is fighting its way out of your ribcage.) It's amazing how the threat of unbearable, searing pain will motivate you to change your diet. But tonight we got some pizza for the kids. Which means we also got breadsticks and a cinnapie. I was totally fine with my gallbladder friendly meal - until it was time to clean up. Instead of just discarding the kids' leftovers, I found myself pulling a Cookie Monster over the sink, only with pizza & cinnapie instead of cookies. I was all OM NOM NOM NOM, crumbs flying everywhere, garlic butter dripping on my shirt. It was...pure bliss. Then 5 minutes later the nausea hit and that hot poker feeling in my upper right quadrant started to rev up. So I took an anti nausea pill and a Percocet to head off a full blown attack. Thankfully, it worked. Unfortunately, the side effects drove the rest of my evening. 

Narcotics and caulking guns do not mix.

I started the tub caulking project last weekend. I was down to the last seam - along the back of the tub. It's a short seam, so I figured I'd knock it out real quick while the kids were getting ready for bed tonight. Turns out I was experiencing a Percocet-driven bout of overconfidence and bravado. Not only did the caulk ooze out all over the side of the tub (and on my foot, and on the wall tiles, and on the floor), I could not for the life of me figure out how to make it stop. It's not that the caulking gun is hard to use, it's that my problem-solving skills had already clocked out for the night because Percocet. I finally thought to release the trigger (duh), and the tube-shaped Vesuvius finally stopped erupting. There was caulk pretty much everywhere - except the seam. So I used my finger to spread it over the places the caulk was supposed to be. It ain't pretty, but hopefully it's sealed. I'll have to check it tomorrow in the light of day and without the influence of strong painkillers. 

The more people tell me what a breeze gallbladder surgery is, the more freaked out I get about it. 

Please don't reassure me. All you're doing is increasing the probability that something will go horribly wrong. Ever hear of Murphy's Law? Stop invoking it with all your proclamations that I'll be "just fine." Tangentially related, I may need to have my anxiety meds adjusted.

Some of my favorite pictures in my camera roll are selfies of Em.

She swipes my phone, downloads new games, and takes pictures if herself, her Barbies, and the TV. Since this isn't a real post, and since I'm too loopy to think of a concluding paragraph that neatly ties everything together, I'll just leave you with her latest selfie. Because it makes me smile. Good night, Dear Reader.