The World As Mare Sees It...
Medieval Torture and the value of good dental hygiene. 2003-10-02

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Diaryland

I woke up this morning with a krkrky feeling in my throat and a nostril that requires a team of miners and perhaps some heavy excavation equipment.

This sucks, poppets. There's a bug going around, and I think I caught mine from either this one here or that one there. Either way, I'm sick. No, I'm not. Yes, I am. No, I'm not.
It's mind over matter, darlings. Unfortunately, I'm a Gemini.

* * *

In other news, I feel like I've been beaten around the head a little bit - and that's aside from the beginnings of this (non-)cold that I've (not) got.

I went to the dentist last night - an appointment that always requires three to four days of mental preparations, and a couple of Advil - and that's only because I don't have access to Valium. I actually had an extra week to gear up for this one, because fortunately, my dentist got kidney stones just in time to cancel on me. See, now that's what I call service!

So fine, there I am, all set for my 6:30 appointment. I knew it couldn't be that scary, and that it was just going to be a tiny filling. After all, I was only scheduled for 30 minutes. How much trauma can you cause in thirty measly minutes, right?

You know where this is going, right? You know it so well... you know it like you were there, laughing and pointing as I sat around in the waiting room for 20 minutes, nerves a-fraying, my mental fortitude going right down the spit bowl. Just like you know that that while they froze me at seven, they didn't actually stick their fingers in my mouth until 7:30. And of course, it's only obvious that the anaesthetic either didn't take, or more likely started to wear off by that time, probably because nervousness had my heart beating so fast that the extra pumping of the blood washed all the freezy-stuff away, and I howled with soul-searing pain the first three times Dr. Medieval Torture started to drill. (An unlikely explanation, that heart-pumping bit, but I'm only quoting the torture assistant...) Of course, because they wanted to ensure that I stop screaming, they then injected some heavy-duty, long-lasting, brain-fuzzing stuff that had my bloody earlobes numb until midnight.

What was supposed to be an easy-peasy half-hour appointment turned into two hours of low-grade hell. Furthermore, I don't know what they were doing in there, but today, I could swear that I was on the wrong end of a tussle with several doors that opened by surprise, a boxer, a baseball bat, and a partridge in a pear tree. (It was a particularly strong and angry partridge, you see.)

I'm off, people. I've got sniffling and moaning to catch up on.

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Check In - 2011-03-25
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iimage: Jack Vettriano