God, I'm so fucking emo
Can anyone explain to me why getting a dental exam should made me sob uncontrollably for forty-five minutes?
I went to the dentist, and yeah, the place was cheap and depressing -- I live on the wrong side of the tracks, and not in a Madison way -- and the hygienist spoke very little English, so she couldn't be comforting, and the dentist was brusque and uninterested. And yes, he used that pointed metal hook on my teeth, and why no one has come up with a tool that does the same job but is somewhat less like a medieval torture tool yet I don't know, but I've been subjected to those many times in the past with nothing more than a wince and a grunt of unhappiness.
So does anyone have any idea why I started to cry as the dentist prodded at my teeth, wept silently as the hygienist cleaned them (for the first time in seven years, and I do admit, they look a bit better), and choked back sobs all the way through the checkout process until breaking down completely once I got back to my car? I proceeded to sob uncontrollably all the way back to my house and for some time after getting back.
The thing is, I've done this kind of cry, this full-body keening moan, more than a few times in the last couple of years. Difference is, that was always about something. In fact, it was always about Scott.** Except for that one time when it was about DH.
This time, it was about absolutely nothing. I feel okay about my life at the moment. I love my home, and it's mine; I had a good day at work (unfortunately thanks to the tragedy in upstate New York, but that's journalism for you); and I'm dating a very sweet man with whom I expect to have a lovely Valentine's Day.
This time, even as the tears poured down my face, I had no idea why I was crying.
(Nor did my dentist, or rather the dentist, for I will not be back. Once the tears started, not only did he express no sympathy at all, not so much as offering me a tissue, he also didn't speak to me for the rest of my visit. To be fair, I doubt he gets a lot of experience with emotionally unstable middle-class white girls. Still.)
Happy Friday the 13th!
**I am no longer interested in bothering with a cutesy nickname for the ex formerly known as You Know Who.
I went to the dentist, and yeah, the place was cheap and depressing -- I live on the wrong side of the tracks, and not in a Madison way -- and the hygienist spoke very little English, so she couldn't be comforting, and the dentist was brusque and uninterested. And yes, he used that pointed metal hook on my teeth, and why no one has come up with a tool that does the same job but is somewhat less like a medieval torture tool yet I don't know, but I've been subjected to those many times in the past with nothing more than a wince and a grunt of unhappiness.
So does anyone have any idea why I started to cry as the dentist prodded at my teeth, wept silently as the hygienist cleaned them (for the first time in seven years, and I do admit, they look a bit better), and choked back sobs all the way through the checkout process until breaking down completely once I got back to my car? I proceeded to sob uncontrollably all the way back to my house and for some time after getting back.
The thing is, I've done this kind of cry, this full-body keening moan, more than a few times in the last couple of years. Difference is, that was always about something. In fact, it was always about Scott.** Except for that one time when it was about DH.
This time, it was about absolutely nothing. I feel okay about my life at the moment. I love my home, and it's mine; I had a good day at work (unfortunately thanks to the tragedy in upstate New York, but that's journalism for you); and I'm dating a very sweet man with whom I expect to have a lovely Valentine's Day.
This time, even as the tears poured down my face, I had no idea why I was crying.
(Nor did my dentist, or rather the dentist, for I will not be back. Once the tears started, not only did he express no sympathy at all, not so much as offering me a tissue, he also didn't speak to me for the rest of my visit. To be fair, I doubt he gets a lot of experience with emotionally unstable middle-class white girls. Still.)
Happy Friday the 13th!
**I am no longer interested in bothering with a cutesy nickname for the ex formerly known as You Know Who.