Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

Language: Spanish

There's a benzoin / novocaine mixture out there that's marketed as a canker sore reliever. The novocaine numbs the sore, and the benzoin covers it up so it can heal. It's pretty cool. I have some left over from a few weeks ago, so I tried it on the throat a few days ago, and it worked well enough, so I've kept it up.

I often gag myself while trying to put it on: the wound (or whatever the hell it is) is far enough back there that I can't see it very well when I'm trying to put the stuff on, and since the applicator that comes with the thing in the first place is much too short to be useful for something toward the back of the throat, I've had to improvise with Q-tips and a plastic tube, so the actual process is mostly just me making various blind swipes in the general vicinity, one of which inevitably gets too close to the uvula, and then I gag for a bit.

Also there's often some incidental drooling.

But it's worth it, because once the novocaine kicks in, I get to stop hurting for a little while.

(Yes, I am going to try to see a doctor on Monday.)

Speaking of gagging: here's a Pink Floyd song I don't especially care for.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hello?
Anyone has it inside there?
Right. . . . Can you hear me pitching if
there are any homemade people?
Advanced, now:
I hear that one of you is feeling down.
Well I can facilitate his pain, and
get his feet to him again.
Relax,
I need certain information first.
The basic facts can hardly
demonstrate to me where you hurt.

There is no pain; you're backing down, the
smoke of a distant ship in the horizon.
You're only coming to traverse waves.
Their lips move, but I can't hear what they're saying.

When he was a boy, he had a fever.
My hands felt like jousts, like two globes.
Now and again, I get that sensation.
I cannot explain: you wouldn't understand.
This one isn't how I am.
I'm done, comfortably numb.
(Authorization:)
Hardly a small pinch.
It won't have more, won't . . . Aaaaaahhhhh!
You can feel a little ill, but
can you be unemployed?
I believe that he's working above, for good.
That'll go for your demonstration of subsistence:
the hour to go comes upon him.

There is no pain; you're backing down, the
smoke of a distant ship in the horizon.
You're only coming to traverse waves.
Their lips move, but I can't hear what they're saying.

When he was an ephemeral boy, I took a glance,
outside that corner of my eye. The
I returned the glance, but it was going.
I can't put my finger in him now.
They grow toward the boy; the dream goes away.
I'm done, comfortably numb.