The other day I woke up with a tonsil the size of a tennis ball. Yes. It was protruding from my mouth.
This tonsil has a tendency to overreact. If the function of tonsils is to stop trouble trying to make its way through my body, my right tonsil is like Cerberus guarding Hades – and in fact it makes a good deal of sense that my huge tonsil is actually a two-headed dog in my throat.
My left tonsil? It’s more like good ol’ Sargeant Schultz bumbling around Hogan’s Heroes, or maybe a Homer Simpson type of guard: “Halt there! Hey, you brought me donuts? Whatever, you look safe. Come on in!”
My Cerberus tonsil has detained something awful in the Guantanamo Bay of my sinuses and those terrorists are brooding trouble. In vain I am pleading with them: Project Deadlines! AWP research! Book Editing! Mere days before public humiliation with elitist writers and hipster wannabes! No one is listening. I think they’re tunnelling out through my ear canals. Feels like they’re using dynamite.
Must…not…break…down…
