DENTIST
Oh good, you aren't wearing any nail polish. It interferes.
ME
I feel a little...
(2 hrs later)
DENTIST
You can let her eat anything soft: pudding, yogurt, smoothies, pasta
ME
Emgh...KD!
********************************
Oh good, you aren't wearing any nail polish. It interferes.
ME
I feel a little...
(2 hrs later)
DENTIST
You can let her eat anything soft: pudding, yogurt, smoothies, pasta
ME
Emgh...KD!
********************************
I got my three wisdom teeth removed on Friday. I remember very little because of the drugs. I think I may have exaggerated my metabolism or something, because I am pretty sure the surgeon (pointed canines, looks you in the eyes, doesn't know how to not sexualize conversation) overdosed me on sedatives. I was supposed to silly but aware; I was, in fact, basically unconscious. I ralphed chocolate soy milk on the way home (my sister was the best...she picked me up and got me some mac n' cheese, and put me to bed and let me sleep over) somehow mostly into a bag, though also on my jeans and a bit on the car seat. It is very strange to think I could lose actual hours. As if they never existed.
The Russian probably has some lost hours as well. He is in New Orleans, helping his old friend to escape Grey's Anatomy nights with his girlfriend and her friends. I think that essentially means a lot of drinking, some drugs and possibly strippers. I hope he didn't cheat on me. I won't be happy and I don't want to ask the question. I don't want to expect that to be the case. I can't imagine being apart for 5 weeks while I am in Spain, with little communication. It is going to be difficult.
I will be finished classes in about a month. It seems like I have a lot do, still. But it will get done. I am feeling kind of calm, even with all the work I have piling up. It will get done. I have learned how to ask for help, from the Russian, from Bby. I never used to. I don't really know how to ask for things.
In other news, I got into a tiff with my landlord, but I posted my apartment for May on craigslist and I already have about ten people interested, so I am not too worried about having to keep this place for May. Screw that guy. It is going to be a different story when I get back from Spain - I wonder if the Russian and I will have found a place and what it will be like. I wanted him close to me so much last night, it was overwhelming. I think about decorating and cooking and choosing between my stuff and his stuff. Salt and pepper shakers in duplicate.
This is the opening paragraph to a story I wrote a week or so ago:
The little boy squats on his haunches, watching the blood squeeze out of the scrape on his knee. He is bird-boned and porridge coloured, even now, during the height of summer. His hair flops in front of his glasses, soft and dirty. He puts a finger to a bead of blood and rolls it like a snot between his fingers until it thins and smears. He likes that it is quickly replaced with a new bead that thickens and darkens, and then he can do it again. He shifts forward into the sand, and squats again, examining the bloody crystals in the depression in his sandbox, and then the sand that his knee has collected. He carefully brushes a sample of the bloody sand into the cargo pocket of his shorts and then flops onto his back, eyes to the sunburned coloured sky. When the Power Rangers watch hanging off his wrist beeps he springs up, runs through the dry yellow grass, to the back veranda, and slips through the screen door and onto his seat before his mother has a chance to call him.
The Russian probably has some lost hours as well. He is in New Orleans, helping his old friend to escape Grey's Anatomy nights with his girlfriend and her friends. I think that essentially means a lot of drinking, some drugs and possibly strippers. I hope he didn't cheat on me. I won't be happy and I don't want to ask the question. I don't want to expect that to be the case. I can't imagine being apart for 5 weeks while I am in Spain, with little communication. It is going to be difficult.
I will be finished classes in about a month. It seems like I have a lot do, still. But it will get done. I am feeling kind of calm, even with all the work I have piling up. It will get done. I have learned how to ask for help, from the Russian, from Bby. I never used to. I don't really know how to ask for things.
In other news, I got into a tiff with my landlord, but I posted my apartment for May on craigslist and I already have about ten people interested, so I am not too worried about having to keep this place for May. Screw that guy. It is going to be a different story when I get back from Spain - I wonder if the Russian and I will have found a place and what it will be like. I wanted him close to me so much last night, it was overwhelming. I think about decorating and cooking and choosing between my stuff and his stuff. Salt and pepper shakers in duplicate.
This is the opening paragraph to a story I wrote a week or so ago:
The little boy squats on his haunches, watching the blood squeeze out of the scrape on his knee. He is bird-boned and porridge coloured, even now, during the height of summer. His hair flops in front of his glasses, soft and dirty. He puts a finger to a bead of blood and rolls it like a snot between his fingers until it thins and smears. He likes that it is quickly replaced with a new bead that thickens and darkens, and then he can do it again. He shifts forward into the sand, and squats again, examining the bloody crystals in the depression in his sandbox, and then the sand that his knee has collected. He carefully brushes a sample of the bloody sand into the cargo pocket of his shorts and then flops onto his back, eyes to the sunburned coloured sky. When the Power Rangers watch hanging off his wrist beeps he springs up, runs through the dry yellow grass, to the back veranda, and slips through the screen door and onto his seat before his mother has a chance to call him.
The Russian said it was reminiscent of Flannery O'Connor, which might be true. I have been reading her letters a lot recently. She is a champion letter writer. Living in Milledgeville with her mom because of her lupous forced her to be a good correspondent, but I think it was probably a medium that suited her better than human contact. She was closer to her God than anyone else, I think. She is a warm and caring friend, but she also struggled to communicate her views on the world, especially the borders of the world, that get softened by faith and the unknowable.
I leave you with this:
1 comment:
Poor you having to deal with all that pain. But also lucky you for getting to keep your teeth!! I wish they had given me mine. You should paint them gold and make some sort of shadow box art out of them.
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