Your Blue Eyes Blacked: Day One Hundred Eighty-Four

74587_7207It is entirely possible for me to write five hundred words strictly about my trip to the dentist today.  I am wondering where that will leave me in the end, though, if half of that is just wordsmithing the facts rather than reaching for context, rather than trying to make something wearable out of all these disjointed scraps and squares of life.

So, without making it more than it is, I fretted about going to the dentist, wanted to not have to go (mainly because I didn’t want the shitty news that my teeth – those metaphorical dream-carriers of self-worth – were all going to have to be yanked out of my head.  Immediately and without anesthetic! They’d chase me around the table with a pair of rusty pliers while I do my best Bill Murray in Little Shop of Horrors.   I laughed at those ideas, but yet, still carried them around in my pocket, so by the time I cruised into the parking lot, I was unhelpfully tense.  I started paying extra attention to the feeling of drills and water suction and the fly dancing around on the ceiling.  I started to think what if I had a seizure or a panic attack while this very pleasant hygienist has her rubber-gloved fingers and this scraping needle inside my head.  But then, I remembered how many times I’ve done this, that it wasn’t new and the only reason I would have any incident at all would be if I provoked it.  So, whatever techniques I used, mostly just doing what I could to pay attention to the Top 40 radio and remember the fact that I had tomorrow off, so this was just the last barrier between me and 24 hours of quasi-freedom.

Needlessly long story short, my teeth are not fine…per se, but they are not worse than the last time they were cleaned and they are not falling or requiring (save for the little wisdom tooth that may eventually have to go) pulling.  We can continue to “watch them” and I can continue to try and maintain my regimen of dental hygiene that I get is necessary, but feels like an awful lot of crap I have to do to maintain just one orifice.  At least for a few more months until the Doctor has to put his or her hands in my face and start insisting on things. And in the interim, I’m double-fisting kettle corn.


Everything else was positive, I got things accomplished, not everything, but a chunk of critical tasks were completed.  I feel okay about not being there tomorrow, no major anxiety.  I feel like I can spend the day thinking about other things – mainly Italy and Atlanta and boys and the goddamned Supreme Court.  So that’s something.

I am thinking about diet and exercise and walking more, but a good part of me right now is just really enjoying not worrying about that.  I need to worry, I want to have a body that can take what I want to put it through, but I selfishly, short-sightedly, I am happy to just get off the wheel for a second.


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