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Monday, April 2,
2001
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12:41 a.m. Back when
I skipped out of the dentist's office on happy legs a few
weeks ago, I glanced at the little card they gave me and I
laughed at the date -- so far in the future. Back then I was
so glib. That was then.
The next appointment is now. It is upon me. Tomorrow. The
Third of April. It has come up so fast.
In the middle of March I could be sanguine. Now I'm sick
with terror. Again. And I should be ashamed because the
worst is long over. I am a changed person. I actually floss.
Don't particularly think it's the most fun a person can
have, but I do it.
Tomorrow, it's just a cavity but I'm going to beg for a
needle. Beg beg beg. I've become a chicken again. What if
they (and they will) hit a nerve? I have a lot of
nerves.
Right now, I'm all nerves.
Plus, I watched the Sopranos tonight because I
watched the X-Files last night and because of the
various plot lines and their logical outcomes, I spent most
of the show in the kitchen, peeking. Listening. Eventually,
I moved two rooms away and didn't even pretend to look. The
show is getting too violent for me, I think.
I may have to start letting it drift away and just learn
what's going on from news accounts and fan sites. Since I'm
not an actual member of the Mafia, since I haven't myself
decided to embark upon a lifetime of crime, since I don't go
to dark sticky bars with almost-naked women posing as the
entertainment ... since I don't live the life I really don't
have to watch.
Entertainment shouldn't be this painful.
That's what the dentist is for.
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