Like It or Not

Teeth are still bothering me.  The muscles holding my jaw in a way that used to be comfortable do not like, at the moment, to hold them that way, but holding the closed is just as untenable.  Finding it difficult to think about anything else.  They don’t hurt – the gums, I guess, when I’m eating, so that’s a fun discovery.  If nothing improves, I may, under pain of death, call and see if they can push up my appointment.  All of this goes back to the sincere, omnipresent and seemingly insurmountable doctor fear I have – one that I wanted to use my 8 free sessions with a therapist offer from work to maybe address  – but the doctors’ office that is right nearby and perfect is all full up on crazy.  (That’s not appropriate, but it does reflect how I feel.)   So I told them, no, I couldn’t wait, I’d find another place and now I feel exhausted about finding one, but that’s probably 50% my goddamned aching teeth talking so…

I need very badly to go home and sleep.  I think the tooth pain left me restless and so I feel achey and exhausted now and the motoring has ground to a halt.
It is hard to be a successful writer who flat-out refuses to contemplate eventualities.  That’s all fiction is, following through on the great what-ifs, down to their last terrible drop of consequence.

It would be nice, I think, sometimes, to just have someone take me unawares, in my sleep, and cart me off and let them them do all this pokery and fear-mongering while I am off in dreamland.

Bad dream: I want us to have an argument.  A blow-out fight.  I want to be able to say what the fuck, man, what…the….fuck is going on?  Why am I meant to just sit about here, waiting for the sun to rise and set on you? I never used to think…no, that’s not true, I always thought about such things, about the way I would dote and coo…I doted and cooed over doting and cooing.  I was in constant thrall of the possibilities of romance.  But here we are, the knit loose and fraying, and I still have no clear vision, save the big picture which just has more of a feeling than it used to – there’s something empiric at the edges, where it was formerly just thoughts and ideas.  Still.  It’s not a place you can live, not a sweater you can wear and expect to keep out the cold.
I don’t think about the things you said.  I forget the meaning in your whispers that knocked me sideways.  I don’t think about myself or what’s going on face-wise.  If I’m getting the big red, pus-filled stop sign, I’m just motoring on through.
I don’t think because everything, everything, everything wigs me out.  The rightness, the wrongness.  It all burbles up to the surface and you can’t just ignore it and walk away.   I am trying to ignore it and stay right here with it.  Tonight, an aspirin.  Tonight another pass with the toothbrush.  Tonight, a swirl of Listerine.   Maybe I need to change what I say…it is always on my mind even if I never, ever think about it.

I watched 4 episodes of Dietland with my mother who actually paid attention to it – this is not always the case when I put something on the TV.  She did not see the instant and painful parallels I saw in it, but she thought it was good.  Worthy of watching.

…I called the dentist and at least moved the cleaning up as far as I could, but it’s still 10 days off.  They are meant to call me if there’s any other slots and I am meant to call them if it becomes desperate.  I am hopeful it will not become desperate.  It is…pressing, but not ER-worthy.

Okay.  Okay.

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