From Ruins to a Flattened Ready-to-Build Site!
Monday was the day.
I've had so many of these days;
my mouth bruised
and in stitches
and shelling out for a new
less-pained (hopefully)
smile.
My mouth has always been on my mind,...
it feels like a boundary of landmines in my gumlines
or ticking time bombs
of jack-o-lantern smiles
at my body's front door,
or an arching line of tombstones
mostly maintained by volunteers from a community charity -
rather than the glistening pickets
in a rigid sharp row
that some people have..
the kind that look like they can chew up the riffraff
like a teriyaki stick.
Monday was
shock and awe
baby.
Shock
and
awe.
A different devastation has taken place.
It's what I spent the last two weeks
emotionally preparing myself for.
He's a good doctor
and the process went well,
and the healing is already starting.
My mental loop-de-loops
around dentists/dentistry/cost thereof
are prodigious
and the visits numerous
so its been all my energy for some time
just to get to Monday
and then get THROUGH Monday.
I got through Monday.
I have to use every trick in my book
to convince myself to pay to play the patient
for this level of
drillin'.
My partial dentures
are getting bigger and bigger,
but Doc has installed the foundations
of a permanent implant bridge,
which should really replace
the downhill slide since 2019
when it comes to my front pearly gates.
I am relieved.
But it's also awful.
But also, so what?
Awful is unavoidable.
Awful happens.
So it goes
and that's all I knows.
I know I've surprised people who've asked how I'm doing,
and I give them something like,
"Eh. Not great, but it'll be fine."
and if they ask what I mean, it's a,
"Soul's breakin' right now, which sorta sucks.
Wish I could smile, that'd be nice.
But I'm confident I will heal, which is cool.
Just, not right now.... and not for awhile.
So, yeah... Eh, not great, but it'll be fine."
That's how I feel,
so that's what I say.
In NON teethy-woe news,
Sailor is my joy.
He built me some bookshelves yesterday.
Custom sized, with decorative cast iron brackets
so that my night stand stops being overrun with my "to read/am reading/next-to-read/might read if its by the bed" book pile.
I took a picture of him looking
very excited with his screwgun
as he installed the shelves,
"Sailor really loves screwin'!"
was the caption to my girlfriends.
Sailor continues to be perfect in every way.
He's so kind when I'm in the pits,
where I just want to curl up and die...
and he just runs my errands
and then sits next to my curled half-corpse
and pets my rump
while I grump grump grump
in a lump lump lump
and watch whatever is on the teletube
while the painkillers do their duty
inside and outside
(with honor).
Maybe I'll nickname my toothless grin
"The Cave of Wonders"
with a wink and a nod
just trying to accept the temporary horror
with a show of my own kind of honor.
Whatever the case,
I'm tired.... I'm hurting.... I'm sick....
I'm broke.... and I'm in love.
It's almost like I'm reliving a blurb of my 20s,
in my 40s.
Only this time its the sick that's making me tired, hurting, and broke
rather than the love part, ha!
Oh,... the 20s..... you were crazy.
I've had so many of these days;
my mouth bruised
and in stitches
and shelling out for a new
less-pained (hopefully)
smile.
My mouth has always been on my mind,...
it feels like a boundary of landmines in my gumlines
or ticking time bombs
of jack-o-lantern smiles
at my body's front door,
or an arching line of tombstones
mostly maintained by volunteers from a community charity -
rather than the glistening pickets
in a rigid sharp row
that some people have..
the kind that look like they can chew up the riffraff
like a teriyaki stick.
Monday was
shock and awe
baby.
Shock
and
awe.
A different devastation has taken place.
It's what I spent the last two weeks
emotionally preparing myself for.
He's a good doctor
and the process went well,
and the healing is already starting.
My mental loop-de-loops
around dentists/dentistry/cost thereof
are prodigious
and the visits numerous
so its been all my energy for some time
just to get to Monday
and then get THROUGH Monday.
I got through Monday.
I have to use every trick in my book
to convince myself to pay to play the patient
for this level of
drillin'.
My partial dentures
are getting bigger and bigger,
but Doc has installed the foundations
of a permanent implant bridge,
which should really replace
the downhill slide since 2019
when it comes to my front pearly gates.
I am relieved.
But it's also awful.
But also, so what?
Awful is unavoidable.
Awful happens.
So it goes
and that's all I knows.
I know I've surprised people who've asked how I'm doing,
and I give them something like,
"Eh. Not great, but it'll be fine."
and if they ask what I mean, it's a,
"Soul's breakin' right now, which sorta sucks.
Wish I could smile, that'd be nice.
But I'm confident I will heal, which is cool.
Just, not right now.... and not for awhile.
So, yeah... Eh, not great, but it'll be fine."
That's how I feel,
so that's what I say.
In NON teethy-woe news,
Sailor is my joy.
He built me some bookshelves yesterday.
Custom sized, with decorative cast iron brackets
so that my night stand stops being overrun with my "to read/am reading/next-to-read/might read if its by the bed" book pile.
I took a picture of him looking
very excited with his screwgun
as he installed the shelves,
"Sailor really loves screwin'!"
was the caption to my girlfriends.
Sailor continues to be perfect in every way.
He's so kind when I'm in the pits,
where I just want to curl up and die...
and he just runs my errands
and then sits next to my curled half-corpse
and pets my rump
while I grump grump grump
in a lump lump lump
and watch whatever is on the teletube
while the painkillers do their duty
inside and outside
(with honor).
Maybe I'll nickname my toothless grin
"The Cave of Wonders"
with a wink and a nod
just trying to accept the temporary horror
with a show of my own kind of honor.
Whatever the case,
I'm tired.... I'm hurting.... I'm sick....
I'm broke.... and I'm in love.
It's almost like I'm reliving a blurb of my 20s,
in my 40s.
Only this time its the sick that's making me tired, hurting, and broke
rather than the love part, ha!
Oh,... the 20s..... you were crazy.