Nope, this isn't about Repo! (though I should really write something about it at some point)
I'll make as simple as I can, which doesn't mean much as I really am one for digression and pointless ramblings that lead nowhere. See?
Anyway, I have a varicocele. What's that you ask? Well, it's a certain problem of a certain vein in a certain testicle. Not good, all in all.
I've been meaning to have the surgery done for MONTHS, but the idiot doctors at the Aeronautical Hospital (I used to think they healed planes there when I was little :3) have been postponing it ad infinitum. Finally, they gave me an actual date for the surgery TWO weeks before it, which is fucking unprecedented for these doctors. Seriously, they must have broken some sort of record. I'm being admitted on Wednesday, when they'll take some blood, do a few tests, shave me (NOOOOOOOO... ahem... well, I'm told it itches something awful, but oh well. I also understand that until you get used to it, instead of walking, you more or less... sidle, I suppose is the word). After Wednesday, that is, Thursday (yes!) I'm being operated on. Supposedly, the surgery is quick, pretty painless, and only lasts about 30 minutes if everything goes all right. Of course, there's a one in a million chance something will go wrong. That's what bothers me. Whenever McGyver said "It's a million-in-one chance, but it might just work", it worked. Let's hope that he was just really bad at guessing the odds.
After the surgery, I'm staying at the hospital, watching TV, reading and hitting on nurses (?) for another day, then I'm off to bed, which means lots of time to make journals and go through galleries and whatnot.
That's the short of it. Yes, that's the short of it. You don't want to imagine what the long of it is.
EDIT: If any of you LOVELY people watching me living in Buenos Aires (or, if you're crazy enough, one of my watchers from faraway countries like the US or my dear Saudi friend) want to stop by Hospital Aeronáutico in Pompeya, feel free to do so and make me feel happy. Ask around for Julián Fernández.
Si alguna gente linda de Buenos Aires quiere pasarse por el Hospital Aeronáutico en Pompeya, pasese nomás, pregunte por Julián Fernández (no me conocen como Clashero ahi... giles) y deme un abracho.