As I'm evidently wont to do, I've bitten my tongue again. Only, this time, I did it about a week ago, resulting in a canine-sliced divot just on the underside which has blossomed into a roiling vortex of sanity-wrinkling discomfort seven days later. I can't speak, I can't sleep, I can't eat without bursts of sharp, intense pain shooting through my mouth. At one point over the weekend, my wife dragged me to the pharmacy to investigate ways of treating it (other than my method of trying to complain it away). The matronly woman behind the counter suggested gargling with peroxide, a recommendation which struck me as somewhat unsound. "Madam," I said -- my speech slurred with swollen, crimson excruciation,"iff you fffink I'm going to put va same liquid in my mouf dat Debbie Harry uthed to wegularly dunk her hair in, you're thadly misssthaken." Undaunted, my wife bought a bottle of the stuff anyway, oblivious to my pronounced observation that the bottle clearly bore the legend "NOT TO BE TAKEN INTERNALLY." Hurrumph!
I've successfully resisted the peroxide treatment thus far, opting instead for washing my mouth out regularly with warm salt water (which stings like a bitch) and dabbing a medicated gel called "Kanka," which, given the name, I can only assume is manufactured by Australians.
In any case, until this thing goes away (please, God), my postings here may take a turn for the entirely unhinged. You've been warned.
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