First thing: I insisted that the scanner bed is big enough to fit my new watercolour paper, and clearly it ain’t. Natalie Joy was right. >.<
I will need to draw narrower next time, I guess.
But, getting back to the theme, I’ve always hated my tonsils. Just like I’ve always kind of hated my epiglottis. They fall into the broad category of “things that make the human body kind of gross.” And tonsils are never quite symmetrical. There’s nothing beautiful about ’em, and very little capacity for beauty there.
So when I take a peek in the back of my throat the other day and see what looks like a pair of boxers’ ears hanging furious and crimson, I was a little irritated. I suffer your very existence, I grumbled to them, and now you repay my letting you live in my body with this?
When I was a kid, a couple of friends had their tonsils out. That always seemed like a good idea to me. Just get rid of ’em. Make your body a prettier place to live, and save yourself a whole lot of grief later on. I was jealous of the nonstop popsicles and TV they had. Of course, it didn’t really occur to me that if I ended up at home recovering from a tonsillectomy, I’d have only a couple of channels worth of TV and maybe a half-dozen movies, where my friends had the wonders of cable television. Part of me, when I saw the mess in the back of my throat, thought that maybe now I could have that, with all of the whole Internet at my disposal, instead of a couple of crummy OTA channels, some of which were in French.
But here I am, on the cusp of my first real school year as a teacher, with my throat inflamed, and some vintage of streptococcus dancing wildly around in my mouth, and all I can think is that I wish I had another week to eat popsicles and blitz through the rest of Breaking Bad. Or, you know, dig out some VHS copies of The Real Ghostbusters and pretend that I got those ugly tonsils taken out when I first realized I wanted them out of my throat.
Until next time, paddle your own canoe, folks.