5 August 2006

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My surgery date is approaching faster than I could ever imagine. The thought that keeps circling in my head is that a part of me is going to be thrown in the garbage. Actually, thrown in medical-waste trash bins somewhere. So, I have decided to have a going away party.

I am not sure how else to deal with my nervous energy and a party, for an agoraphobic such as myself, seems like the perfect balance between avoidance and torture.

So, if you know me, you are invited to my house next Saturday the twelfth. Even if I haven't seen you for a dog's age. You see, part of my nervousness stems from a strong believe that I will not survive the surgery. It is a very common surgery, and I haven't any real reason to panic, but the numbers are aligning just so. There, now that I have said it, it will defiantly not come true.

call or e-mail me for details.

the recess bandit.

p.s. if you want to bring boob-cupcakes, I will not protest.


tifilis said...

Wish I could be there. You KNOW I would have made boob cupcakes...

Anonymous said...

If you get to have a goodbye party for your boobs can I have a helloo to my boobs party?