Last week was homecoming week. I'm sure most everyone knows that. Homecoming week takes so much out of you. Everyone is exhausted at school, it is so hard to concentrate, but we still struggle on.

Homecoming week consisted of a lot of different things. There was a parade, a ceremony, the dance, class games, etc. Every day last week there was something that had to be done right then, right there, or else! There would be a catastrophe otherwise!

The entire high school was in a riot all week, and for what reason? Homecoming. This week full of fun and excitement really is a great time but I don't know if it is even worth it to be so exhausted now. Nobody has any motivation, or energy at all. We are all just "bumps on a log" as Mr. Arensten would tell my World History class. And its the truth... we really are, but what do you expect?

I'm just going to try and pull through this week and maybe by next week things won't be so listless.

At the risk of disappointing the legions of 'musings' readers who view my physical and emotional pain as a source of great amusement, last week's wisdom teeth extraction went remarkable well.

In the days leading up to the procedure, it seemed like everyone I told had a horror story to relate. Between the folks who had negative reactions to the anesthesia... and those who threw up from the pain medication... and those who were swollen and sore for weeks... and those who developed the dreaded "dry socket"... I was pretty much a nervous wreck by the morning of the surgery.

Is it overblowing things a little to call it surgery? That seems like a bit much, really. They didn't remove any internal organs or anything. Nonetheless, the name of the outfit that pulled the teeth is Southern Illinois Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery, Ltd. Now there's a name you can trust.

I guess it's a little odd for someone of my age to be having their wisdom teeth pulled, but they never really bothered me. I had an impacted wisdom tooth pulled a few years ago, while holding on to the other three. They were all "erupted" as they say in the oral surgery biz, so I guess it wasn't complicated as tooth-pulling goes.

I can't remember. Given the option of straight novacaine and the complete knock out, I decided to sleep through the operation. The last thing I remember is a couple of the assistants laughing at some minor mistake they made while preparing the surgical tray. I remember thinking, they're being pretty cavalier about it, considering they're about to rip three teeth from my mouth.

That was the other thing I found sort of strange. They asked me if I wanted to keep the teeth. By the fact that they even asked the question, I have to assume that someone has answered in the affirmative at some point.

I can't imagine why. I mean, I appreciate the help they've given me in chewing and everything, but not so much that I'm ready to have them framed and placed in a spot of honor in our home. I guess I could put them on a necklace or something.

As Sybil drove me home, I groggily recounted the question to her. "Did they think you were going to put them under the pillow and the tooth fairy was going to give you the thousand dollars you paid to have them pulled?," she asked.

"One thousand one hundred forty-five," I answered.

Apparently, I also inquired one time too many about the availability of ice packs. By the third time, she answered a bit testily, and although I don't remember it, Sybil said I was hurt by her tone. "What are you going to do when I'm old and senile," I allegedly said, "kick me in the head?"

I spent the rest of Thursday gauzed up and packed in ice, lying in bed, but by Friday morning I felt well enough to come to work. The swelling was minimal, and the pain was nearly nonexistent, at least behind the fog of the hydrocodone.

By Sunday, I felt healed up and haired over enough to eat real food, and it was just in time. I may never eat pudding nor ice cream nor apple sauce again. Okay, maybe ice cream.