SCARY SOUNDS DOWN THE HALL: Hospitals are just kinda weird. I didn’t sleep much the night of my surgery, bullshitting with my 17-year-old roommate Russ who also had his appendix out (“Appendix Brothers!”) and just listening to the circus of sounds just outside our room, up and down the hall. Nurses talking. Things beeping. Things clicking. Whirring. The occasional burst of laughter between fix-it guys.

The big highlight of the morning was “getting out of bed to pee.” Big fun. Tight guts and woozy moves. The bite of yesterday’s catheter, and residual effects after they take it out! Youuuuch! I laid in that bed for 12 hours or something, and got up, and man, the room got a little swimmy.

It was nice in the bed. Limited range, sure, but pretty comfy with a constantly charged iPhone and iPad to entertain me. Didn’t even turn the TV on in the room. More fun to tweet it up, read up on whatever was on the Huffington Post/Liberal Fartstream Media and catch on on Facebook/Facewhizz/Facefuck. Dumb.

Marva the nurse was running the show all day. A cross between Judge Judy and like, a Judge Judy with wild, red hair. Big hair. Using this certain kind of “quit being such a pussy” tone to getting the job done with me. Sorry, lady. Not good with this shit. There’s a fucking tube in my arm. My guts hurt. I’ve got shrapnel wounds on my circumference. Be easy on me.

The doctors discharged me that afternoon, yanking the I.V. out, and after a quick discussion of whether or not I wanted to stay another night, that one was clinched when Marva said, “Well, we’d had to put another I.V. in.” Done. It’s been great. Sayonara!

I got the hell out of there, heading home to my first night of nothingness. Mom and Dad propped me up on a comfy chair/ottoman combo, and I proceeded to nod off and on, higher than hell on magic Norco pills. Adventures in narcotics.