Recovery still chugging along

Mercifully, other than the constant congestion, and the persistent feeling that there is rather large marble embedded in my left nostril, I'm doing all right. Sense of smell mostly recovered. I did get winded after walking up two flights of stairs in Grand Central, at a not particularly fast clip--winded by something I wouldn't even have noticed a week ago.

I really did not expect to lose the entire weekend to surgery recovery. I wasn't in pain, or even weak, but I horribly underestimated how much the recovery would screw up my sleeping. I wasn't asleep for three hours straight any time before Sunday and I wasn't awake for four hours straight, either. That will just take a lot out of one. I finally figured out how to safely sleep on my belly on (I think) Sunday night, which has helped a great deal, and I'm getting some air through my noses finally.

Forward, always forward.

A phrase now in my head

"You have failed your saving throw against FAIL."

Mostly brought to mind by Chris Sims's absolutely flabbergasting review of "The Stark, Existential Horror of Tarot #53"

This is a very bad comic book. So bad, in fact, that I’ve actually gotten requests from readers to review it, presumably because they enjoy seeing me suffer. But trust me-–and I know I’ve said this before–-it is the worst issue of Tarot so far. Every time it comes out, I’m convinced that it just can’t get any worse and I’ve always been wrong, but man, there is no way he can top this one.

To start with, Tarot-–whose latest exploits involve being out-dueled by her male counterpart, who is so good that he’s able to cut her clothes off during the swordfight, which of course arouses her to no end-–isn’t even in this issue. Instead, the focus is on third-stringer Crypt Chick, whose major claim to fame is that she’s the only recurring female character in the series–-up to and including Tarot’s mom–-who hasn’t appeared naked.

This is not a work-safe, or good-taste-safe, review.