(no subject)
Two teeth lighter and temporarily saved from the writhing doom of dental corruption, I find myself back in St. Cloud taking stock of my options, my finances and my foodstuffs. One thing is becoming rapidly apparent; I need to find a tipping job, and I need to do it with the swift, sure strike of a thunderbolt. Also, I'm desperately short on foodstuffs, particularly foodstuffs I can cram into my 1-inch food slot. Or monies to buy said foodstuffs. My dental infection left me afflicted with trismus.
Trismus is commonly known as lockjaw, though this isn't the really horrible sort of lockjaw wherein I can't open my mouth -- I just can't open it very far. The muscles in my jaw went on four-alert lockdown, and now I get to retrain them (with the aid of ibuprofin) to open. Now, we westerners positively delight in forcing all kinds of silly dietary restrictions on ourselves, like someone who grows bored with a game they find too easy and so decides to enforce arbitrary rules to increase the difficulty. Generally, we base these on occult terms whose meanings we don't understand, not being nutritional scientists. I can't count the number of people I've heard rattle off the term "trans fat". I am happy to assume that none of them have the molecular skillz to tell me what a trans fat is, how it works or why it's bad. People have been diving out of the way of runaway carb trucks for years, but who here can tell me what defines a carbohydrate?
Now I get to play a silly game of my own, but it's a lot more concrete and absolute.
YOU!
FOOD!
ARE YOU LESS THAN ONE INCH WIDE ON YOUR THINNEST FACING?
OH SWEET GET IN HERE
Every day, I hold ice in awkward positions with my tongue, I perform slow, steady streches of the jaw and I dream of that most holy of days to come, the day when I will order a burger and feel that particular sensation of tooth penetration. My incisors and three remaining bicuspids, my canines plunging through the giving flesh of another animal! Meat juice... spraying everywhere.
BITING AND TEARING
oh wow I need to have a lie-down now.
I think while I walk to the store today, I will stop at the window of the local Subway, gently press a sullen hand against the glass and stare mournfully at those privileged few as they casually live out my dreams.
And then, I dunno, sell matchsticks.
Trismus is commonly known as lockjaw, though this isn't the really horrible sort of lockjaw wherein I can't open my mouth -- I just can't open it very far. The muscles in my jaw went on four-alert lockdown, and now I get to retrain them (with the aid of ibuprofin) to open. Now, we westerners positively delight in forcing all kinds of silly dietary restrictions on ourselves, like someone who grows bored with a game they find too easy and so decides to enforce arbitrary rules to increase the difficulty. Generally, we base these on occult terms whose meanings we don't understand, not being nutritional scientists. I can't count the number of people I've heard rattle off the term "trans fat". I am happy to assume that none of them have the molecular skillz to tell me what a trans fat is, how it works or why it's bad. People have been diving out of the way of runaway carb trucks for years, but who here can tell me what defines a carbohydrate?
Now I get to play a silly game of my own, but it's a lot more concrete and absolute.
YOU!
FOOD!
ARE YOU LESS THAN ONE INCH WIDE ON YOUR THINNEST FACING?
OH SWEET GET IN HERE
Every day, I hold ice in awkward positions with my tongue, I perform slow, steady streches of the jaw and I dream of that most holy of days to come, the day when I will order a burger and feel that particular sensation of tooth penetration. My incisors and three remaining bicuspids, my canines plunging through the giving flesh of another animal! Meat juice... spraying everywhere.
BITING AND TEARING
oh wow I need to have a lie-down now.
I think while I walk to the store today, I will stop at the window of the local Subway, gently press a sullen hand against the glass and stare mournfully at those privileged few as they casually live out my dreams.
And then, I dunno, sell matchsticks.