~ Tuesday, April 3, 2001 ~

 

10:43 p.m. Being on the *other* side, the sore but righteous side, of a dental appointment is the only place to be. So what if I have to eat on one side of my mouth? What's a little drooling and dribbling amongst friends?

I really did a lot of drooling today. I wore black and it would have made me smile, except I had no control over my lips. Instead of smiling, I laughed in a frozen rictus-like way that I found even more hilarious. I completely saturated my bib.

Nobody likes to wear a bib.

I had, according to the dentist, a "humongeous" cavity. Nobody likes to hear that word in any diagnosis by any qualified medical person, unless it's describing one's brain or certain identifiable elements of one's sexual equipment.

In any event, the little $150 cavity, upon closer inspection, turned out to require a $750 crown, the second one I will now own. Two crowns, no tiaras, so far. Plus, a total of four needles to quiet the cucaracha nerves.

Full lip feeling didn't return until nearly 8 p.m., at which time the nerves joined in, miffed, but intact. I'm thrilled to say that I still have the nerves to ache and no root canal was needed and I believe I can say, once again, that the worst is behind me.

The next time I have a night before (April 25th, to be exact), I'll want to keep this feeling of euphoria in mind. I'll want to remind myself that the only way to get this good feeling is to go through the bad stuff and come out the other side. Maybe I can think of the next dental appointment as nothing more than another chance for this nice afterglow.

Now, you may be wondering what the significance of the accompanying photo might be, if any? Actually, I had (still have) an entire little discussion about creativity and the incredible power of the mind, but I'm going to have to let that be the subject of tomorrow's piece.

You see, my mind is a little ... hiding in a corner of my skull, if you want to know the truth. It's shell-shocked and distraught because it's had to contend with processing the taste of a whole lot of latex-covered fingers and the sight of sharp shiny objects aimed at soft quivery spots and ... oh, so much to deal with.

I'll have to wait a few hours before I can extract a little pearl of wisdom from the quivering jelly that is my brain at the moment. You understand. I know you do.

See you in a few hours. I'll bring the treasure.