dental fetish, anyone?
I have never had braces. My teeth remained relatively straight throughout childhood.
Lately, my wisdom teeth have been steadily pushing their way into the recesses of my mouth. The corners of the teeth struggle up in such a way that the soreness is experienced as a shade of red.
The final back right corner of the bottom left wisdom tooth debuted last week. If I touch it with my tongue, a lump of soreness still surrounds the area. Apparently the crown has emerged, but wants to keep the gum around for some nefarious purpose. At least it got over screaming "I exist" to my nerve endings every ten seconds.
That entire bottom row has made minor adjustments and re-situations over the last few years years. Specifically, the left of middle tooth has been push back and at an angle. When I run my tongue over the space, it feels like a foreign mouth. I floss with these white handles that have a few centimeters of floss and a pointy end that I imagine Ralph the Motorcycle Mouse would use as a shank in miceprison knife fights. I can gently bite the floss apparatus downwards and make a Trouble pop-a-matic bubble sound.
A piece of floss lodges itself in between my teeth. I attempt a variety of actions to dislodge this bastard - brushing, picking at it with both ends of the plastic instrument, my fingernail. At one point I lean forward on my toes and tilt my head upside down for a better view. I have blood from overflossing and spittle running down my chin in a steady trickle. I lack a vacuum for suction, but consider looking into dental supply catalogs when not writing a letter to the creator to recommend an update for our next evolutionary version. I'm sure we both feel embarrassed about the way I found myself. Existence calls for too many of those minor shameful moments that should never be viewed by a third party. "Can you explain what you've done to the human form?" my reflection bellows. Nothing's ever bellowed at me before. "Tell me that and look at me when you speak! I want to see your eyes! I want to look into the depths of your dark soul as you spread hate, you abomination."
Fifteen minutes of averting my eyes from myself later, the floss is still there. It feels rough. I can't stop rubbing my tongue up and down it. It will not pull up or go further down. Upon waking up a bit more from this whole ordeal, I realize it may be something I slightly dislodged with the floss. I can't remember if I had those odd side filling as a youth that I saw in my sixth grade reading teacher's mouth. What IS this? It lacks the common decency to even stick all the way; it's gotten itself jammed at a terrible angle in between two teeth arranged in such a way to make it the only possible combination to allow this ordeal to happen in the first place.
Once I stop paying attention to it, it should remove itself during the normal course of events during the day. But I cannot. And that is the tragedy.
I'm trying to focus on the top row. It still bothers me the incisor on the top row has a much larger gap than I once knew, no doubt to the less-painful upper wisdoms.
I often have dreams of this tooth falling out, and I'm wandering around bleeding steadily into a rag, consulting people about this tooth and receiving misinformation. Or it just wiggles in place like a baby tooth. I have dream-teeth that I can occasionally stick together, I worry about cavities and it happens enough that I sometimes try to do it while awake.
Well, I fail miserably at ignoring this Thing. I now have a presence foreign and invasive. I'm going to drive into town, and see if they can use my old application or if I have to fill out a whole new one, and I have to form sentences to other sentient creatures all while trying to ignore the quiet, steady deviance front row center.
Such a livejournally complaint. I got some gunk stuck in my teeth and now I'm going to whine about it and tell you about my reoccuring dreams and wrap it up by being self-conscience about what I do. I even secretly promise myself to research official mouth terminology and edit this later. Who knows if I'll make good anytime soon? A year from now I'll probably get a case of become-an-expert-on-a-topic-entirely-unrelated-to-what-I-ought-to-do-right-now-itis, where everything becomes so much more fascinating and free associative. I'll scream MOLAR from the rooftops.
At least I spared everyone my first ever awkward restroom conversation from Friday with the same awkward substitute guy I transcribed beforehand. No annoyances quite like the minor ones.
Lately, my wisdom teeth have been steadily pushing their way into the recesses of my mouth. The corners of the teeth struggle up in such a way that the soreness is experienced as a shade of red.
The final back right corner of the bottom left wisdom tooth debuted last week. If I touch it with my tongue, a lump of soreness still surrounds the area. Apparently the crown has emerged, but wants to keep the gum around for some nefarious purpose. At least it got over screaming "I exist" to my nerve endings every ten seconds.
That entire bottom row has made minor adjustments and re-situations over the last few years years. Specifically, the left of middle tooth has been push back and at an angle. When I run my tongue over the space, it feels like a foreign mouth. I floss with these white handles that have a few centimeters of floss and a pointy end that I imagine Ralph the Motorcycle Mouse would use as a shank in miceprison knife fights. I can gently bite the floss apparatus downwards and make a Trouble pop-a-matic bubble sound.
A piece of floss lodges itself in between my teeth. I attempt a variety of actions to dislodge this bastard - brushing, picking at it with both ends of the plastic instrument, my fingernail. At one point I lean forward on my toes and tilt my head upside down for a better view. I have blood from overflossing and spittle running down my chin in a steady trickle. I lack a vacuum for suction, but consider looking into dental supply catalogs when not writing a letter to the creator to recommend an update for our next evolutionary version. I'm sure we both feel embarrassed about the way I found myself. Existence calls for too many of those minor shameful moments that should never be viewed by a third party. "Can you explain what you've done to the human form?" my reflection bellows. Nothing's ever bellowed at me before. "Tell me that and look at me when you speak! I want to see your eyes! I want to look into the depths of your dark soul as you spread hate, you abomination."
Fifteen minutes of averting my eyes from myself later, the floss is still there. It feels rough. I can't stop rubbing my tongue up and down it. It will not pull up or go further down. Upon waking up a bit more from this whole ordeal, I realize it may be something I slightly dislodged with the floss. I can't remember if I had those odd side filling as a youth that I saw in my sixth grade reading teacher's mouth. What IS this? It lacks the common decency to even stick all the way; it's gotten itself jammed at a terrible angle in between two teeth arranged in such a way to make it the only possible combination to allow this ordeal to happen in the first place.
Once I stop paying attention to it, it should remove itself during the normal course of events during the day. But I cannot. And that is the tragedy.
I'm trying to focus on the top row. It still bothers me the incisor on the top row has a much larger gap than I once knew, no doubt to the less-painful upper wisdoms.
I often have dreams of this tooth falling out, and I'm wandering around bleeding steadily into a rag, consulting people about this tooth and receiving misinformation. Or it just wiggles in place like a baby tooth. I have dream-teeth that I can occasionally stick together, I worry about cavities and it happens enough that I sometimes try to do it while awake.
Well, I fail miserably at ignoring this Thing. I now have a presence foreign and invasive. I'm going to drive into town, and see if they can use my old application or if I have to fill out a whole new one, and I have to form sentences to other sentient creatures all while trying to ignore the quiet, steady deviance front row center.
Such a livejournally complaint. I got some gunk stuck in my teeth and now I'm going to whine about it and tell you about my reoccuring dreams and wrap it up by being self-conscience about what I do. I even secretly promise myself to research official mouth terminology and edit this later. Who knows if I'll make good anytime soon? A year from now I'll probably get a case of become-an-expert-on-a-topic-entirely-unrelated-to-what-I-ought-to-do-right-now-itis, where everything becomes so much more fascinating and free associative. I'll scream MOLAR from the rooftops.
At least I spared everyone my first ever awkward restroom conversation from Friday with the same awkward substitute guy I transcribed beforehand. No annoyances quite like the minor ones.