Things change. As you age they just change, some for better and some for who knows what.
My dental health is a good example of that. For years and years my teeth were perfect and then they were not.
I suppose that I need to take responsibility for that, at least some of it. Whatever the case I now find myself sitting in the chair at my dentist's office.
Yes, I am live blogging the experience, at least for a moment. You see my mouth is mostly numb, as soon as it becomes completely numb I get to enjoy watching instruments of torture ravage my mouth.
Did I mention that I hate having my mouth numbed. This is just unpleasant. But it is par for the course for this week.
In a moment or two this little story will end and then I'll email it to myself to be posted later.
(Thus ends part I and thus begins part II)
Fast forward a bit. My time in the chair has ended but I have to wonder if I am being punished.
My mouth is numb, my wallet lighter and I am literally spitting blood. I find myself fuming over it all. Insurance barely covers the work and I can't talk.
Well, I can speak but my tongue is numb and consequently doesn't want to work.
I try to tell myself to relax, but it is hard. I feel like I was robbed of cash that I worked quite hard to earn.
So I remind myself that this is going to help me, make life better and avoid problems down the road.
But the words sound trite and ring hollow. And that hollow feeling extends elsewhere too. I always feel a bit crazed during the nine days, so maybe this will end soon.
Part of what makes me crazy is the waiting. They tell me "Mr. Jack, we'll be back just as soon as your mouth is numb."
Great, and I suppose that the check is in the mail. I look at the clock and start timing them. Twenty two minutes later they have come back to check on me. By now my tongue no longer functions and I feel like I have been using my mouth to plow the field.
"How do you feel now," asks the lady in the blue medical attire. I do my best to answer, but I hear some sort of awful noise. In fact it reminds me of trying to speak after having finished a bottle of Tequila. There are two major differences between then and now.
The last time I did that the lovely Ann Stacey and I had quite a few laughs followed by a thoroughly miserable morning the next day. Of course I was about 22 or so and relatively bullet proof. At this point in time I can't say that I really remember having had a miserable morning, but I do remember a mighty fine evening.
I suppose that there is a good reason why my memory functions in this manner and why I haven't repeated the event in a thousand years.
A short time later my appointment ends and I walk across the street to Barnes and Noble. My mouth is still numb, the appointment took far longer than anticipated and the elevator in the building is broken. In short I am on my way to being in foul humor.
While perusing the shelves at Barnes and Noble I ask an employee for assistance. Apparently he can't understand me, so he tells me to wait because they have someone there who understands sign language.
This remark makes me wonder whether one can prove that dental anesthesia causes your right fist to punch someone in the mouth.
"Your honor, it is not my fault that I hit the fat bastard in the mouth. The dentist gave me a drug that caused me to do so. He is clearly trying to generate more business."
It is a compelling argument, but I realize that there is a weak spot. I can't refer to him as a "fat bastard" because that is not accurate. "Little prick, insensitive jackass or idiot" are far more appropriate.