You Drill Me

How does a 8.45am dentist appointment sound??

____drill in expletive____.

I'm sitting here with a literally frozen and enlarged left cheek, lip and tongue. I look like a nuff nuff. On the walk home I sported sunglasses in an attempt to hide from potential silent judgement.

But let's rewind, shall we...

Alarm buzzes. Teeth are brushed with extra vigilance to effectively remove any lingering coffee breath. Gums, flossed for the first time in several months. There was no time to pysch myself up for this appointment, it being scheduled so early in the morning. However, I was under the impression I was to be receiving a crown for my one broken tooth. Wrong. 2 fillings, 2 needles, 2 rubber dams. Not only was I the squirming recipient of 2 freezing needles that caused more than a slight discomfort, but the 2 little pills in question were inserted 1 front and center, the other on the lower left jaw. This has resulted in the entire left side of the mouth region on my face to be numb.

As I lay prone with the blood rushing to my head, visions of squirting liquids, googley-eyed Dr.s, appliances stuck in my face and the billowing dust particles from what could only be the drilled hole in my tooth appeared before my eyes. Through the very encapsulating dark glasses designed to protect my blinkers from glaring operating lights, I was unfortunately still able to view the Country Music Channel in HD on mute. Like adding insult to a pre-existing injury being drill-repaired with chunks of metal.

I have to say though, the assistant was truly concerned with my well-being. She was perpetually asking if I was 'all right' and if I was 'doing OK'. All someone subjected to such a position as I could manage in response was a shrug. Or a strained nod at times. Trying to speak was only to set myself up for failure, which I felt bad for, but hey. In contrast, the dentist himself had only this to say (to me at least): "I need you to open a little wider...little wider...open as wide as you can...". In addition to that, I am also informed of his lunch plans as well as after-work intentions if ever I wanted to casually bump into him at leisure.

By chance it was my dentist's birthday today. I don't know if it was a strange sort of self-birthday gift, but instead of filling in my bottom jaw tooth with the silver stuff as my plan would only cover, he blessed me with an aesthetically pleasing white composite (no doubt initialled) for no extra charge. To me it's all the same. In fact, I even prefer the silver caps - it makes me seem hard, and if I collect enough I may earn a grill as opposed to dentures.

As I'm approaching critical mass under my parents' dental coverage, I even took the initiative to book a future appointment for a cleaning before my impending 20th. The receptionist was pleased to inform me a second time that Dr. was kind enough to bestow upon me a fancy white filling for the price of a so-last-century silver one. She implied that I should be more thankful, as if Big D was a god, raining down his vast, shining healing powers, transforming my leper tooth into Le Brad Pitt de dents, sparing my fragile life in the process. I thought briefly about saying, "You're a Doctor, deal with it.". Then it crossed my mind, "But you're the receptionist.".

I'm not digging the deal with the white fillings anyway - the only possible situation I could fathom where a silver filling would be less desirable is if I was flapping my jaws quite loudly and that exact moment the clouds parted and a single ray of sunlight beamed down, reflected off my tooth and shone directly into the eyes of the person I was conversing with, permanently rendering him/her blind.

In conclusion, what I propose is this: Though a set of perfectly intact, white, dental work-free chompers is what people are after these days, my teeth have character. They've refused and rejected orthodontic appliances, been broken on bits of raw pasta in Montenegro, collected various shaped and coloured fillings, and bled dozens of times due to overly aggressive flossing nights before check-ups. In my opinion, I've got a cohesive gallery of commissioned professional artworks signed by the artist himself. I may have a crown or two and a set of falsies by 70, but my teeth live! They get out. They get around. More than I can say for myself.

10.0!

Today I went to the gym.

it's exhausting only to write that, yet refreshing. Over the past few months I have systematically poisoned the once healthy vessel that was my body. It's been a cruel, calculating and relentless wreaking of havoc at the one thing that used to symbolize my struggle for personal achievement over personal failure. I've been failing for so long...

So I wrote myself a little gym work-out and filled up a little water bottle. I began with a stretch on the ... I want to say, incumbent bike machine. if that's incorrect, all I mean is the upright bike. Then came my core sets. I actually exceeded my physical expectations with surprising self-discipline and work ethic. To say so, I was very proud of myself, even just to achieve something that simple and relatively non-time-consuming.

The thought of rejoining the local synchronized swimming club, fit enough for fitness with my new found bodily conditioning motivation, excites me to no end. Even when I can feel the sore, blackened circles beneath my eyes and my tired, tired body collapsed in bed, all I am able to think of is choreography for a non-existent routine. I'm thinking suit fabrics and headpiece colours and cadence figures and partner-highlights... MY BRAIN WILL NOT SWITCH OFF. Beauty, grace, power, agility, extension, precision, emotion...

I really do love the sport.

What my sub-conscious, pre-sleep brain is trying to tell me, is that I have found a gold nugget of inspiration. I challenge anyone to view this video and feel uninspired, in fact. even a teensy, itty-bitty bottom dust particle piece of inspiration.

Hello Ma Baby!

How awesome is ragtime piano??

It makes me smile anyway.

These are my favourites...