Don't Cry For Me, Argentina

It looks like this tonsillectomy needs to happen sooner rather than never, like I was hoping. I woke up today and my tonsils are the size of the planet formerly known as Pluto. If you wanna get technical, it's still known as Pluto; it's just not a planet anymore. But enough about astronomy. I was hoping to at least wait until after my race in August to have them hacked out, but it seems that might be impossible. At this point, I may go straight home and attempt to cut them out myself.

I'll spare you any further details about my otolaryngology for now. Instead, I'm going to switch to a melodramatic plea for sympathy about the fact that I had my first bicycle wreck as an adult last night. Other than some mild to moderate contusions, I'm happy to report that I survived and emerged relatively unscathed. It's a good thing I invested in that helmet. My steering skills are evidently so atrocious that I almost steered right off of a bridge into a small ravine. Luckily, I was gifted with exceptional survival instincts and thus, I was able to navigate the near-fatal crash with poise and confidence.

I was also gifted with a small proclivity for exaggeration and maybe some histrionics. Hey, it makes my stories wildly entertaining, if only slightly true.