Things that happen when you get a tonsillectomy

I just spent fifteen minutes looking for an old Harry Potter cup with a built in straw we used to have.  I think we gave it to Goodwill years ago.  I feel disproportionately sad.

Also, in a vicodin daze yesterday, I told me mother the sound she made while writing in her journal was stressful enough to give me a heart attack; repeatedly told my family they were "too tense" as my father and brother attempted to set up a PS3; and openly wondered if I was a bad person because I was considering starting a new sketchbook, even though I already have a couple others I'm using.

Apparently, narcotics and having pieces cut out of me doesn't put me in the most rational state of mind.  Who knew?