Argh. I keep thinking I don't want to have my gall bladder out because, face it, surgery is never fun. And then it goes ballistic on me for no reason at all (no, I don't consider three glasses of wine at dinner anything for a gall bladder to complain about: it's fat it's supposed to hate) and I must face an 8:30 to 5 day with a railway spike stabbing into my side. Now I can deal with that; I've dealt for fifteen years with that. But then on my break I found this on incandescens' FL. And I couldn't laugh because it hurt too much.
But of course I kept telling people to go down to the basement computer and look at it, and they laughed for me.