So, I finally got my laptop back, life is good. Who knew how dependent I, of all people, could become to a computer? Ten years ago I would have scoffed loudly at the idea. Now here I am thanking the gods of technology, or rather the guy my husband works with, for returning my baby to me unscathed. Well, definitely less scathed than it was when I gave it to him.
Turns out, for those of you who are interested, (for those of you who are not stop reading now!) that I had a virus. Actually, four. Four viruses? Really? How in the heck did I get FOUR viruses? And one especially nasty virus that ate the brain out of my computer…
So I reviewed my activity on my laptop. Let’s see; I don’t do much. Ummm, between downloading hours of pirated material such as videos and free music, I watch a lot of porn. Then there’s my email. Don’t do much on that; but I do like to accept, read, open, and download as many attached files as I can from emails with subject lines like: “Free Money!” and “Triple Your Income In One Week- This Is NOT A Scam.” You know, little things like that.
So far I haven’t tripled my income. I also haven’t been sent that check I was promised from that missionary trapped in Ergistan, or someplace like that. Nor have I prolonged my life. And that Granny’s Gone Wild thing was just too scary for words….
So, as you can see, I’ve been relatively cautious, so what possibly could have caused these viruses? I may never know.
On to more important things; since I have been on my forced hiatus, I have experienced two things that seem to be completely unavoidable in life. The first, I had my wisdom teeth removed (explains a lot doesn’t it?). At this very late stage in life, twenty plus years past the time when they are normally yanked from a teenager’s head, this chicken had no choice but to give in to the procedure. My theory, why put off until tomorrow what I can put off for twenty-something years?
Long story short, I know, too late, this has been by far one of the most miserable experiences of my life. To begin with, the oral surgeon, who I have to point out, was a very competent doctor and a nice enough man, was completely convinced I was off my meds. It didn’t help that I had prefaced his consultation with the words, “Whatever drugs you got, bring ‘em on. There can’t be enough. This girl’s a coward.” Somehow, that gave him the impression that I was at the very least neurotic, and at the most a hypochondriac.
Of course, now I felt obliged to disprove his theory. The more I rambled, the more convinced he became that I was both and possibly schizophrenic as well. His bedside manner turned from comforting and confident, to placating and pensive. He backed his chair away. A few inches. Seriously. Then a foot. Or two.
Part of my brain was screaming, Shut up! Shut up! You are NOT helping! But, naturally, I could not stop… ‘Cause that’s me. The Overcompensation Queen. By the time I left the consultation, I’m fairly certain the doctor was more afraid of seeing me again, than I was of seeing him. I made a mental note to check the IV line to make sure he wasn’t self-medicating the day of my surgery. Who could blame him really? I was half convinced I was nuts too. And really, there is just no taking that back. Once you’ve convinced someone you are batshit crazy, that’s pretty much what they will believe until the end of time. No matter how sane or stable you may appear in future interactions, they will assume you are just well medicated on that particular day.
The day of my surgery came and went with little to no fanfare; my wisdom teeth popped out like a dried out cork on a cheap bottle of wine (not that I have ANY experience in that theory, it just sounded good), and voila, before I knew it it was over. And I wondered, why, oh why, was I ever so terrified of this before?
A week later, with the pain in my jaw demanding ibuprofen every four hours around the clock, I now understand why I had dreaded this. I like sleep. Uninterrupted, pain free slumber is what I crave. I have not known this in a week, and judging by the comments at the follow-up, I will not know it for at least another. (The doctor very patiently reminded me due to my age I would heal much slower than say, an eighteen year old. Of course, this advice was given from two feet away. Out of arm’s and foot’s reach…) The other night I had a dream, no exaggeration, that I was drinking rum and then vodka straight from the bottle in an effort to kill the agony in my mouth. I don’t drink and have never partaken of these particular substances which explains why in my dream they tasted like water, which I’m fairly certain they don’t….
To add insult to injury, I went to the eye doctor and was fitted for my first pair of bifocals, and as I sit typing this, peering through my stylish new frames, I am amazed by the clarity I have been missing. However, having said that, bifocals? Really? I just had my wisdom teeth removed, how OLD do you think I am??!!
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