A day without Percocet is like a day without no pain.

Yesterday was Fosco's second day without a Percocet. It was also the eighth day since The Accident. What progress can be reported?

Well, for one thing, the royal purple of Fosco's bruises has faded in some areas, replaced with a yellow most frequently associated with liver failure. Oh, and as it is now possible for him to actually palpate his bruises and broken ribs without screaming, allow Fosco to report that there is apparently a two-inch thick tube of hardened, congealed blood running through his torso, exactly in the shape of a shoulder harness and seat belt. How charming! Let's hope that it sticks around, as Fosco would love to explain it to his next trick at The Watergarden. (Oh wait, there's no going back there for a long, long time--there are still those shaved EKG spots that need to grow back in...)

Are you getting a sense of Fosco's mood? It's a bit dark, like some of that fancy unrefined Spanish chocolate Fosco bought for his mother this Christmas. How dark is that mood? Just ask the blonde whore hostess at El Palomar who Fosco felt the barely-controllable urge to punch in the face this evening. But don't get the wrong idea about Fosco. He's not a misogynist (or even much of a misanthrope)--he's just in pain.

Wait, did I just describe Fosco or Dr. Gregory House? Tune in Tuesday nights at 9 (8 Central) and see for yourself!

On the other hand, Fosco's powers of concentration have returned enough to allow him to read half of the 19th-century French Satanist novel that he picked up at Logos last night. What is it about the French and Satanists? Did you know that Dickens never wrote one novel about Satanism? Not one! I'll have to check the biographies, but I'm pretty sure he never even planned one! So what was in the water in 19C Paris?

Here's another good sign (besides Fosco's newfound interested in nineteenth-century French Satanism): Fosco did manage to spend a peaceful half hour (and nearly $200) browsing through The Literary Guillotine with his sister before dinner. (These brief daily bookstore/food outings are entirely her idea, for the benefit of Fosco's mental health. However, after the whole "Palomar hostess debacle", I'm not sure Fosco's sister is going to be eager to try another one tomorrow.)

As Fosco's physical body is most likely going to spend its New Year's Eve on the couch (maybe there are more 19C French Satanist novels!), his bloggy persona has some blog-related pyrotechnics planned instead. Watch this space as Fosco prepares to wrap up the year in style!