I love my blog. I love that I’ve met all these people all over the world, people I consider friends even though I’ve never met most of them, people that I will say inappropriate and stupid things to when I do meet them. But with the very public expression of my thoughts, and learning that the hard way, I have learned that there just are some things that are off limits. Even though writing about them and talking about them would really help and be very therapeutic.
I have two posts I want to write. I want to write about how as I get older I choose my friends based on common interests (read alcohol) and I have a hard time being friends with people from 10 years ago that I have nothing in common with. Because the only reason we’re supposed to be friends is because we were friends years ago?
I want to write about how I hate liars. Especially when it is the last person on Earth that you thought would lie to you. And that person doesn’t even get why it is a big deal.
But instead of writing about those things, I’m going to write about my toothache. Because it is all I can think of. And I haven’t figure out if the pain in my head is all from my tooth, or if someone blindsided me and whacked me in the side of the head with a lead pipe in the conservatory. It had to be Col. Mustard. Or that shady Professor Plum.
So I’m having a root canal on Thursday. Because that’s the only day they can do root canals. Apparently it is dental law. I happen to have this Thursday off. Can you think of any better way to spend your day off? Because I can’t.
I had a root canal when I was younger. About 20 years ago. It was the only time I ever cried at the dentist. They stuck a shot of Novocaine right into the nerve and I felt it in my toes. It rocked me to my soul. And hurt like a son of a bitch. And I have a high threshold of pain.
This current tooth has been bothering me since early November. I was in there right before Thanksgiving to have my dentist put some filling stuff on the outside, thinking the exposed root was causing the problems.
My tooth has been getting progressively worse since Thanksgiving. It alternates between stabbing pain and throbbing. In the last week, I’ve been consistently popping four Advil every four hours. And lest I forget to take them, the throbbing and the stabbing reminds me. It even wakes me up. So it is time to get this shit taken care of.
But I am freaked the fuck out. The pain the last time I had this done was out of control. And I don’t really want to go through that again. I’m assuming that things have changed in the last 20 years and that maybe they don’t have to stab you right in the nerve to get you numbed up completely. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it any more. That and it isn’t cheap to have this shit done to your teeth, even with insurance.
So in the meantime, I’ve lost my appetite because my stomach is full of ibuprofen. And probably small pieces of my stomach lining. Well that’s one way to lose the
baby burrito weight.
Can I pass this off as a new fashion trend at work?