Today I got my wisdom teeth taken out. When I went into surgery, I was initially very scared, and it felt surreal to have an IV in my arm and a gask mask over my face and two doctors at either side telling me that I was "doing great" and that I should "relax." Five minutes later, I found myself in my living room, draped in bath towels and towlettes and cloth-covered ice bags that I mistook for towelettes and unwittingly drooled blood all over.

I finished the last half of The Minions and watched The Godfather and a Shane Dawson YouTube video where he made a cake out of burgers. I think I also watched some "Rick and Morty," but I'm honestly not sure. Brian lovingly cared for me and helped remove bloody gauze from my mouth (he spent the entire day here!). Dad also went back to Colorado today, but I was not lucid enough to give him a proper goodbye, unfortunately.

In between the two films, I nearly overdosed on acetaminophen and spent half an hour wrapped in a bath towel, hallucinating on my brother's bed. Later, I nearly cried at the dinner table while eating mashed potatoes because I was so mad at my mom for almost killing me because she was irrationally opposed to giving me ibuprofen. Earlier, when I awoke from my anesthetized slumber, I apparently asked the doctors for my teeth, to which they replied that they had already thrown them away (allegedly). That was really the only funny-ish thing I said. I greeted Brian, when he came to my house, with a swollen face and a request for him to take an IQ test with me.

All in all, it was a good time.

I don't remember sending any of these messages. Except the one about mashed potatoes. Also, this is a group chat with Brian and my mom and I apparently openly talked about having whiskey (which I do have, actually. Very cool, I know).

I have no recollection of this.