Thursday, July 25, 2013

On Stuff Being Pulled Out Of My Head

Status Update: Coffee supplies plentiful. Had a moment of bone-chilling panic when I realized I was nearly out of filters, but I pulled through at the last minute before I had to resort to using small-clothes.

For the most part, I haven't been writing much because I had two and a half* teeth pulled on Monday and I'm still recovering.

* The half a tooth is a coronectomy, where they lop off the crown and leave the roots in your jaw. In my case, it turned out to be a necessary step since random genetics and Mother Nature had colluded in embedding my right lower wisdom tooth so far deep within my jaw it would have required spelunking to remove completely and full removal would have likely resulted in partial facial paralysis and a hole in my right jawbone the size of Mississippi, but with far fewer s's.

Strange process, this. For the most part, I'm fine, free from pain, but I have absolutely no legs. I feel like a sports car with a one gallon tank. Rev the engine, fall asleep. Gas it up, good for another four miles.

So, I'm good for writing, so long as it's in very, very short bursts. Then my recovery-induced narcolepsy kicks in and I'm out. Makes working kind of difficult. Hopefully I'll be over it next week. Until then, it's probably going to be another flash piece, which is fine because they're a hell of a lot of fun to write, but it's not progress, per se.

For the record, when they tell you that they're going to put you under with laughing gas and whatever voodoo sedative they choose, they tell you you're going to be out, mostly, and when you're awake you'll mostly be along for the ride. You'll feel the dentist banging around in your head, tugging on things and kicking up a ruckus, but with very little palpable sensation beyond that. This is all very true.

What they don't tell you ahead of time is that you might actually hallucinate. Which I did. Woke up and saw an oil rig sticking out of my mouth, which then turned into the Death Star Trench Run from Return of the Jedi. I assume my coked-up frontal lobes saw whatever braces and implements they had placed in my mouth and cooked up a fantasy. Or the good doctor actually was drilling for gas without telling me. I'll never know which.

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