I had my wisdom teeth out on Thursday; a process which did not live up to my expectations. The most stressful part was having the anesthesia needle stuck in my arm, but by that point I already had a mask with the laughing gas flowing, so I didn't care much. I also didn't care ~10 seconds later when I disappeared into a glorious patch of lost time during which, I am told, four of my teeth were removed. I woke up and, with the exception of a short time with drunk legs, was fine. I never even had to break out the oxycodone - there has been a surprisingly small amount of pain compared to the monumental event I was told to expect. Mostly it's just been annoying; I enjoy eating solid food from time to time.
I beat Portal 2 again, this time with the developer commentary on. It really is an incredible game. It is still the best game I have ever played by far. Remember how fanatical I was about Mass Effect and Fallout 3? It's better than both combined, even though it took only a fraction of the time of either to complete. Portal 2 is, without a doubt, the best piece of interactive entertainment ever produced. I'm taking it that far. The more analysis I read of the story the more this feeling is cemented. The Half-Life storyline might be a bit more epic due to sheer length, but if the two worlds are connected as was foreshadowed for the long-overdue Half-Life 2: Episode 3, Valve will truly have the greatest story ever told in a series of games on its hands.
I spent a bit of time cleaning out my room; I'm trying to cut down the number of things I have to move come June. I have a great deal of shirts that I'm keeping tucked away in a drawer because of sentimental value. I don't wear any of them - they're either too old or too small - but I still have every shirt from every production; all of my MSOE spirit shirts; and all the band t-shirts (including those that are signed) hidden away. I guess I could be keeping worse things that shirts as mementos. I also finally admitted to myself that there's not reason to hold onto the skinny-ish jeans from my emo rocker days. As much as I'd love to return to that persona, I've grown far too chubby to fit into them and really, I don't look great in skinny jeans anyhow. They, along with the plethora of bland coloured golf shirts from my tenure at Menards, are now in the 'donate' box that has been slowly growing in the hallway outside my room.
I finally tore down my acoustic drums, but I haven't been able to convince myself to sell them yet. There's something about that scrappy set - the shows that were played, the songs that were written - that makes it hard to sell them. They're a bit beat up and they're held together with a mishmash of hardware that came from who-knows-where, but they're mine - my first set, bought with money from my first job. I'm spending too much energy reminiscing about drums.
I haven't quite worked out how I'm going to fit everything into my new room which, like the apartment that contains it, is smaller than my current one. I should be able to stash my dresser in the closet, which might open up enough space for the drums to fit in a corner. Plus I won't have these absurd doors out to the deck I never use. Windows, especially third floor ones, will be far, far better for airflow. The reduced space will be a challenge, but it is one I welcome - I have too much useless shit as it is. I wish that we could hurry up and move already. The wait is killing me. I hate the process of moving - having to reorganize everything; to settle in all over again - and so the anticipation is even worse. Fortunately, I have a number of friends who are eager (or at least willing) to help us move in exchange for baked goods and alcohol, so I am blessed in that regard.
I do believe that it is time to go pack a lunch. I haven't been to work in what feels like ages - time seems to pass more slowly when lying on the couch for days on end.
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