In 21 hours, I'm fairly certain that I'm going to start humming that Ramone's classic, "I Wanna Be Sedated."
I'll be on a small padded table under searingly bright lights while men better educated than myself crack into my face and restructure portions of the inside of my skull.
I'll come to about four hours later and then understand the true meaning of pain about six hours after that when I start screaming incoherently about daggers against the inside of my eyelids and realizing that my face is more swollen than Tom Cruise's ego.
Over the following several days, as my body begins to return to a state similar to what it was before its violation, I'll be home. No work. No code. No worries.
If there are any problems, I'll provide my wife with my usernames and passwords so that she can inform the appropriate people. Hopefully, we'll speak again shortly.