I can't help but feel the inevitable is coming as always. Today my entire psychologist appointment was spent with me crying over the fact that they have to cut services. The cuts I myself am facing are no more case management, i. e., the people who are supposed to drive me to and from appointments and maybe take me on outings, and fewer appointments. These two cutbacks actually don't affect me too much as 1. the case managers always seem too busy with other clients to drive me anywhere like they're supposed to, and nobody seems to get the reasons why I refuse to have them take me on outings (not only do I see no benefit in it--I take no pleasure in it, and it does nothing to alleviate my anxiety, it just strikes me as a waste of their time--and as I just said, they're always too busy for me anyway!), and my dad is retired so even though he considers it a pain he can drive me to appointments now; and 2. with how frequently they cancel and reschedule on me (I think the last time I saw the psychologist was before Christmas, or at least very shortly after), it's rare that I get appointments once every two weeks, I'm lucky to get to see her once a month. I actually would've been willing (well, not willing, but as willing as one can get, considering) to drop it to once a month since that's about how frequently I get in anyway. So the cuts as they stand SO FAR don't really affect me much.

Rather it's the reason behind the cuts that crushes me and has me convinced that soon I won't be receiving any more help whatsoever. The people in charge apparently looked over my files, determined I'm not making any significant progress despite time spent in therapy, and that I'm taking up too many services (i. e., the case management who are supposed to (but usually can't) drive me around, and the biweekly (usually triweekly or fewer) appointments). From the sound of it the psychologist was stretching things to get me more help but if she continues to do so, she'll get in trouble with them. I don't blame her and I don't even blame them. I blame me for not making progress. I've been in therapy years now and I really don't feel I have anything to show for it. And that's not the system's fault. It's mine. I don't understand why I just can't seem to improve. People assume it must be because I don't try. Maybe they're right, though I feel like I've been doing everything everyone says I have to do to get better and it just doesn't work. I've been on meds for years and they do nothing. They do so little that whenever I'm upset my mother asks if I'm taking them, like that'll solve everything. Unfortunately, I am taking them. And no change. Despite all the sessions I'm no less anxious and despite the nurse thinking I've improved because I talk to her more and lift my head a bit more, I really haven't gotten less depressed, I've just gotten more used to talking to her personally. I still cringe away from using the phone, cringe away from reading e-mails (even from my mother), cringe away from replying to people. Repeated exposure has done nothing to improve me. I don't understand why not.

I hate when she asks my goals, because they never change, and they're very low. Before today's session my highest goal was to just feel more comfortable being alone. Because I'm not going to make friends, and I'm not going to have any meaningful relationships or social experiences, job skills, talents, anything. Plus I need the SSI to pay the bills. But I'm not malingering. I just have very low goals because I've seen every single other goal I used to have crumble along the way despite my efforts. When I was preteen I hoped to be a famous writer someday. Through high school I just hoped to have people read my work and like it. In my time on the Internet I just hoped to have online people read my work. After a decade of this not happening my goals for my writing plummeted to me just wanting SOMEBODY to read it and enjoy it and let me know. By now, I've found even that low goal is too high to expect. As a result, I've been losing my enthusiasm to write, and losing my enthusiasm to communicate whatsoever anymore. It's just too much effort to write an e-mail or an entry when just about nobody reads any of it. I'm tired of putting effort into things when things never pay off. So by now, I'm really NOT trying hard anymore, just as people suspected, though I was trying hard before now. I've just been trying so long, and seeing so little in return, that I'm tired. It just doesn't seem worth fighting anymore. And of course, that means next to no goals anymore either, because goals are something you have to work and fight for, and I just can't do it anymore. I'm willing to put up with all kinds of crap, IF I know there will be a benefit waiting at the end. I have yet to see any. I don't see the point anymore.

So that was my goal, the goal I kept giving every time she had to do the review to determine whether I should stay in therapy or not. Just have more self-confidence and be happy being alone. I've given up on everything else. The thought of having a job, having a relationship, having a longterm friend, having any sort of meaningful attention given to my work, that's all so foreign to me that I don't imagine it ever happening. Like I told her today, what's the point in working on my self-confidence when I have nobody to talk to? And anyone familiar with any of my journals over the past decade should be familiar with how many times I've tried and failed no matter what I did. So it wasn't like I wasn't trying. I thoroughly believe that trying just made me worse, because I failed every time, and have no reason to believe I'll ever succeed.

Every time the review came along I hated giving the same non-goal and seeing how I never met it. There were a lot of long silences today. The psychologist in the past has said she actually likes talking to me, but I couldn't help but feel she's tired of me by now. She should be, at least, with what a waste of her time I've become.

It's my belief that once someone/thing outlives its usefulness, once it contributes no more to the world and serves no more purpose, then it has no more right to exist. There's no room left in the world for things with no purpose. They're just a drain on resources that could be better spent on people and things that actually stand a chance. (One reason I never took more advantage of case management. Instead of taking me on useless outings, they could be helping people who would actually benefit from it.) I can't justify something continuing to exist when it has no more purpose. I used to think I had a purpose, that I had a reason to exist, but now I don't think I believe that anymore. Not only do I have no right to keep existing, since I contribute absolutely nothing to the world, but I think I probably never had any right to exist at all, because I never HAVE contributed anything useful to the world, period. This can only mean my existence is a mistake. I don't know how or why it was allowed, but mistakes happen, and I guess I'm one of them. I've fought against it my entire life, tried to be useful and worthy of existing, hoped everyone else was right when they insisted I was, but...now there's nobody left, and they were wrong anyway, because no matter how hard I fought I never made any difference. I can't count the times I tried or wanted to help somebody only for it to be thrown back in my face or ignored completely. And that's the times I was able to even offer help at all; for the most part there's nothing beneficial I can do. Some years back I desperately tried to convince myself that, well, if I can't benefit the world with my work, maybe I can benefit the spirits or whatever by keeping their memory alive or whatever, but that's stupid and I don't believe it. That hope never sustained me because I never see or feel spirits or God or anything like that so for all I know, if any of it even exists, then I mean as little to it as I do to the world, and that doesn't help me find any purpose. If I'm not visibly helping somebody/thing else, and I mean in some SIGNIFICANT way, not just some passing trivial little thing, then I'm not meeting reasonable expectations, such as those set for therapy, so just as I can't keep getting therapy if I don't improve, then I can't keep existing if I do nothing of use.

It's so hard to get myself out of bed in the morning. I don't remember my dreams anymore and that makes no sense because I used to remember them so well, and though they didn't mean much, at least they were a small distraction. At the moment I'm just barely sustaining myself on mere pagehits and a few ratings on my adult writing at AFF since people don't comment, but that's not bound to last long, already it's barely enough. The rest of my work has been a total failure. I haven't worked on EFMI in maybe a couple of years now, if not longer, and nobody even notices. Every so often somebody expresses a tiny passing hope that I'll continue on TAC but I just don't have much left in me. The main reason TAC went on hiatus in the first place? The ONE person who was reading and commenting on it stopped reading, lost interest, and went on her way. Last I knew she was having a good time on Facebook like all my other former friends. (I tried Facebook. All I got out of it was old classmates friending me without saying a word. I cleared out my list and put a note on my page that I won't be back, e-mail me if you want, but nobody has. After Mya got in touch with me to tell me how well she was doing and let me know she didn't have time for me, and I then kept seeing her playing games there, that just crushed any hope out of me for social networking and I gave up.) I can do something without receiving any attention or results for only so long. I've been writing seriously since age eleven, and have been posting it to the Web for over a decade. I'm tired of trying. It's obviously never going to go anywhere. I used to believe that if you just tried hard enough and kept it up, things would pay off, but I guess that's just for certain people because I've done everything and have succeeded at nothing.

I gave up dreams of publication years ago. I gave up dreams of fame, then of popularity, then of having a small circle of devoted readers, now of having even one. I don't really have any dreams, literal or metaphorical, left anymore.

A good point which proves all this--see the last entry I ever wrote in my old Skew. Compare it to today. Notice the lack of any change or improvement whatsoever. And what was that...2007, it was. Five years ago. If I haven't improved or changed in the least in five years then why am I still in existence?

I don't write/talk about it much because I know what reaction would be to such comments; my parents would fully believe I'm just whining and exaggerating, and others would assume I'm begging for attention. The fact however is that it's been on my mind for years now and I don't consider it an attempt for sympathy or attention or even a cry for help because why cry for help when you've already gotten it and it did nothing? It just seems like an inevitability for me that at some point down the line I'm going to have to end my own life. Maybe it'll be because my parents die or are unable to care for me anymore, though I hope I'm dead long before then. Maybe it'll be when therapy is cut, period, because even if therapy hasn't improved me, it's kept me going somewhat, and when it's gone then I have nobody. The thought of falling through the cracks one more time, like all the times before, crushes me, and I'd rather be dead before it happens. I don't want to die. I know my family would be sad even if they were better off. But it's like taking medication. When the side effects far outweigh the benefits, you can't keep taking it. The downs far outweigh the ups. I can't keep living like that. My utter lack of improvement--now proven by the people in charge, no matter how much somebody else might protest--is merely further proof that the time should be coming along when I can't justify existing anymore. Currently, the only real reason I hold on is because the thought of ending it is scarier than the thought of continuing to live like this. Habit gets me out of bed in the morning and back into it alive at night, no matter how much I might pray I just don't wake up since that would be the easiest way out. There has to be a point when holding on becomes scarier than giving up. Every day I find a new reason in favor of the latter. Today I got a very big reason. There are lots of people hurting like I am, except they actually stand a chance. I'm getting in their way, and weighing down everyone else, and that's when I'm even noticed at all, which isn't much. At some point the scales will have to tip in favor of me giving up. I can't help but think it'll be sooner rather than later.

And I can't bring that up with others, and don't like mentioning it even here, because when you talk about ending your life, the few people who might notice will be of the camp that says, "Oh, don't think that way, you have so much to contribute, just hold on and your day will come!" or else the camp that says, "Oh, get over it and stop whining, if you meant it you'd just do it already!" To the first I say, what is left to contribute? When will the day come? Because I can't hold on forever. To the latter I say, you're right. When the time comes, I won't be able to tell anyone, because I'll have to mean it when I want to end it. If you really want to kill yourself you don't go announcing it ahead of time.

Like I said, I don't want to die, but it just seems like an inevitability. I think about when and how to do it. What will the tipping point when I absolutely can't hold on anymore. I feel like that more days than not and so far have managed to hold on, drag myself out of bed one more day, but as with my writing and trying to make friends and such, you can't keep doing something that goes nowhere, and that includes living. I do not envision myself having a future. It scares me how fast the days fly past, how in December I could swear it was just July and in July I could swear it was just Christmas, when I can barely keep the weeks and days straight anymore. Every day is another day closer to my parents dying and me being left on my own. When that time comes, with no more support, I'll die anyway, so it seems more tolerable for it to end before then. I just wish it would do it on its own because I'm scared of doing it myself and probably messing that up, too. Plus there's the rather stupid but just as genuine fear that despite my own (non-Christian) beliefs maybe the Catholics are right, and if you kill yourself you go to Hell. I don't believe in Hell, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist; I've been wrong most other times. Dying might be even worse than living. But that's another one of those "maybes" that means little until it's actually proven or not and that won't stand the test of time either, since by now I don't even know if God exists or if He cares.

Even my physical condition isn't improving despite a few years now in treatment. The urologist was ready to discontinue any sort of treatment for me, period, despite me begging him repeatedly to continue since I have no idea what else to do. The ulcers in my bladder seem to have disappeared, but I feel no better. So that's probably just delaying the inevitable. I'm on four medications, two for my bladder and two for my depression/anxiety, and none of them do anything. This makes me think I'm not meant to get better, mentally or physically. I wonder if maybe this physical condition, which came about just as I was starting to feel a little better mentally, is a sign that I WON'T get better and shouldn't hope for it.

I wish I knew why I existed if I have no reason to exist. It makes no sense to me that God would make a mistake like that unless He's either rather ignorant and un-Godlike, or else I'm wrong and just need to keep holding on for my purpose to show itself, but I really can't bring myself to believe I'm important enough for the latter. Maybe God just does make mistakes. I was going to say maybe I'm just an example for others to see, but that would mean I have a purpose, so even that's asking too much. Maybe He makes mistakes just to make mistakes. I don't know. Maybe He doesn't exist and I'm just a bunch of molecules and DNA that shouldn't have been born to begin with.

I'm getting tired of typing this and know that if I keep it up I just won't post it, like I've been doing a lot lately, hence no updates now that I no longer believe I have anything worth sharing. I'm just sitting in my room feeling miserable when I have no right to; if I truly believe all I typed above, I should not feel miserable, I should just feel resigned. I hate that I'm too chicken to feel resigned just yet because I'm really tired of holding on. I'm tired of being wishy-washy and sitting on the fence. If I really meant it I would just do it. I do mean it, so I guess it remains for me to work up the guts and find the right time, whenever that is. I still hope it'll come in my sleep so I don't have to make the decision after all. But as I was saying, I feel stupid to even feel depressed and anxious anymore because feeling depressed and anxious, feeling sad and useless, implies that you still believe there might be a shred of hope. I'm sick and tired of hope. I want to be resigned; I already may as well be there, for all the good I'm doing the world. Maybe when that point comes, it'll be easier to swallow and I can take care of things. Until then I just exist and wonder why. Why exist, why type this up, why post it, why formulate coherent thoughts and put forth coherent sentences at all. Even proofreading isn't worth the time and trouble because that implies that somebody will read and care enough that I misspelled something.

It's really easy for me to envision the world without me, but really difficult to envision me continuing to stay in it. I'm, what, thirty-five? I no longer even keep track of my age, as I feel the same as I did when I was fifteen. I've just frozen. I look at myself in my mind's eye and I'm not thirty-five. I can't even imagine looking in the mirror someday and seeing all the wrinkles and gray hair of middle age. I honestly don't envision that happening, nor do I want it to. I want to be gone long before that happens. I hate even being referred to as "Ms." or as a "woman" because I don't feel like I am. I just got stuck. Even the high school guidance counselor noticed, when he long ago pointed at pictures of me in the elementary school and then junior high yearbooks and said that in between the two, I'd "lost my smile." He was right. I've never gotten it back. By now I don't imagine that being possible. So, no matter how good I am at visualization (which has also proven useless for me, confidencewise), visualizing a future is beyond me. A future is as foreign to me as a job or a boyfriend or even being able to trust somebody again. (Poet pretty much ensured I never will. Mya and numerous others online just enforced it.)

I'd like to think typing and posting this will get it off my chest and make me feel better, but that's never been my experience; the only thing that makes me feel better is when a bad situation passes and gets better. I don't imagine this situation getting much better at all, and even if it does, it's just delaying the inevitable. I'm tired of delaying. Today the psychologist asked me if crying helps me feel better and I said it doesn't. There were a lot of long silences today. I'm pretty sure she's getting tired of me but is just too polite to say so. Every review period I expect her to drop me like the last psychologist did and I wouldn't be able to blame her, but maybe that'll be the tipping point.

The only reason I even bother typing and posting is because the stupid part of me keeps hoping that someday somebody will finally prove me wrong but I don't really believe that anymore. It would've happened by now, if ever.

Not proofed. I'm tired of putting effort into things.

 

This item is NOT looking for literary critique. I already understand spelling/grammar, and any style choices I make are my own. Likewise, I am NOT seeking publication, so suggestions on how to make this publishable are not being sought.

This item IS looking for people who are simply interested in reading, especially in long/multipart stories, and who like to comment frequently. My primary intent is to entertain others, so if you read this and find it entertaining, please let me know so and let me know why.

If in the course of enjoying the story you do find something that you feel could use improvement, feel free to bring it up. Just know that that's not my primary purpose in posting this here.

If you have any questions about the story or anything within it, feel free to ask.

I do hope you enjoy! :)

Honestly, I tried to make that as clear as I could, and I post it in EVERY FREAKING ITEM of mine. Yes. Some time back I went and EDITED EVERY FREAKING ITEM of mine just to put that in there and save people the trouble of sending me detailed (and, I admit, thoughtful) but unsolicited criticism. So what about it is difficult to understand?

This item is NOT looking for literary critique. I already understand spelling/grammar, and any style choices I make are my own. Likewise, I am NOT seeking publication, so suggestions on how to make this publishable are not being sought.

I got a review which offers me all of that which I specifically say I'm NOT SEEKING. Plus rewrites an entire paragraph in a style that is not my own as an example of better writing. (Rewriting a sentence, fine. A whole paragraph? Hubris much? I found the rewritten paragraph to be something an editor would probably reject, myself. Plus the reviewer got the gender of one character wrong, as well as the name of a land feature mentioned in my paragraph. That makes me wonder if they even got to the end with the disclaimer. Can't blame them if they didn't want to continue reading, but to review like you've read the whole thing is misleading. To offer a review which gets the author's details wrong is just sloppy.) The main gist is to eliminate most of the words and keep it tight. That's well and good and most likely truly required for publication, at least, based on a lot of work I've seen on the shelves. But I'M NOT TRYING TO GET PUBLISHED, I'M NOT SEEKING STYLE INFO, and to be quite honest (yeah!--the word "quite" isn't needed there, BUT I'M WRITING IT ANYWAY!), I don't LIKE "tight writing." To me, it's spare and drab and lacks detail so I can't envision things or get into the heads of the characters. Ever read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell? Thing is over 1000pp long. It's a very slow book. Lots of detail. Can't really call it tight writing, I suppose. I loved that book. Ever read anything by Hemingway, or for that matter, most stuff that passes as literature nowadays? I hate Hemingway's style. Always have. It reads like a Dick & Jane book to me. And I hate how many published books are all WHAM BAM ACTION IN AS FEW WORDS AS POSSIBLE! because then I just can't get into the story or care about the characters or what's going on. So to sum it up,

I'M NOT TRYING TO GET PUBLISHED, NOT SEEKING STYLE INFO, AND I PREFER TO WRITE MY OWN WAY. If one doesn't like it that's fine, but I already KNOW I'm wordy and wouldn't stand a chance at publication. Hello! I'm not even bothering to try! Not all of us are in this for publication! I know that's a novel concept, but it's true (and one of the reasons I gave up on writers' forums, since apparently none of them do it for fun anymore). I write because I want to, I find it fun, and if my overabundance of words bugs somebody, well, it's too bad, there's plenty of better writing out there they can choose from. I never claimed to be good. (Though at least I know my grammar and spelling, which is more than I can say for a lot of amateur tight writers out there. You wouldn't believe how many times somebody has rated stuff of mine like a one or a two despite the flawless grammar and spelling, indicating those must count for nothing nowadays, which I find terribly sad.)

I hate to be so catty and to come back to my journal after so long with this tripe, but GOD I wish people would read my pretty BRIGHT RED DISCLAIMER that I tried to make tight and comprehensible and very easy to see. I honestly don't understand the need to criticize something that overly stresses it's not seeking criticism of that sort. (Though this review--like 99% of the reviews I receive anymore--was sent in conjunction with some site group or something. It kind of peeves me when people review my stuff to meet a group quota. I want people to comment because they WANT to comment, not because it's a group requirement. I've never mentioned this, to avoid being rude, but I guess I say it now.)

The "If in the course of enjoying the story you do find something that you feel could use improvement, feel free to bring it up" comment was included as too many people were taking my disclaimer to mean I didn't want to hear ANY comments or criticism at all. Which isn't true. (And is baffling that my disclaimer is misunderstood in that way, too.) I'm more interested in comments on characterization and plot and whatnot. Not the technicalities. But I have no idea how I can make the disclaimer any clearer, without it going on for over a thousand words, and then nobody would read it at all. I guess I give up. But seriously, I thought it was pretty damn clear this time around.

I really should sleep on this and end up not posting it, as usual (and which is way smarter), but I just get so irked by this. It pisses me off to be told I should write THIS or THAT way if I hope to be taken seriously and published. I never claimed I was TRYING to get in print. If anything, I've always claimed I'm not! So I don't understand it. I'm of the dying breed that really doesn't care if there are some excess words as long as the characters and story (and GRAMMAR) are good. We're quite rare, about to go extinct in fact. I may be the last left in captivity.

The access level restriction will be dropped if I remember and after I simmer down a bit and this person has likely lost all interest in the rest of my bloated writing. (I'm betting they already have--I never have one of those group reviewers stick around for more than one or two items, proving they're doing it for the group, not because they like my work--but better to be safe than sorry.) I'm PRETTY sure they meant well, so I don't want to hurt their feelings, which is why I refrained from replying even with "I'm not looking for style advice or to get published, thank you anyway," because that's a slap in the face after the trouble they went to--it used to piss me off when I'd offer detailed grammar criticism only to be told, "I don't WANT criticism on that, I'll fix that later, just comment on the STORY"--this pissed me off so much I stopped reviewing, because nobody ever said in their items what kind of comments they were really seeking. But anyway that's my very point. I didn't WANT anyone to go to that trouble in the first place, hence the disclaimer. Which nobody can seem to understand or, if they do, they ignore it anyway. I hate it when I just can't win.

Apologies this is the drek I renew my journal with. (Yes, I ended that sentence with WITH.) Perhaps more mundane stuff will come later but I don't know when, I feel very apathetic about online communication such as journals lately.

Checked for typos, but I was typing so damn fast some might have gotten through. *shrug*

 

In the continuing dental drama that is my life...

Well, crud. Three dry sockets. So much for all my efforts. They DID clot over, I'm sure of it, but somewhere along the way I guess they washed away. Darn it. Went to the dentist 9/28 to get fillings--finally got the back of that other molar filled so I can stop worrying about it so much, but ew, the fillings they put in molars are so hideous, it looks like this dark silver furrow down the middle of two teeth, eegh--and when they asked if there were any other issues I said I think I had dry socket again and the jawbone was showing.

Okay, backtracking. After spotting what looked to be the bony edge of the socket protruding from what looked to be eroding gum, I freaked out and told myself not to look anymore. Well, I finally looked the day before the fillings, just to see the state of things. I knew of two bony ridges that would really hurt when touched by the tongue, but they didn't bother me overly much; at first the one in back scraped my tongue raw and it was really bothersome, but I fiddled with it and broke off a tiny sliver of bone--that freaked me out too, but the scraping stopped, so all was well. Well, I finally looked in the mirror, thinking I had these little bony ridges and nothing else, but bam, three empty sockets too. Grrr. There is just no freaking way to avoid getting dry socket; I don't see how anyone does it, short of NOT EATING OR DRINKING PERIOD. *sigh* Well, I'd been doing all I could do, rinsing with saltwater, but the front socket has an annoying habit of forming a vacuum when I eat and drink and though it doesn't hurt, it feels like I'm sucking the gum out of my jaw, which can't be good for the healing process, so it's very irksome.

So back to the dentist's office. When I mention the dry socket Dr. E. says he did spot something back there and was wondering why I hadn't brought it up. It wasn't bothersome, I said, I was just wondering if those bony edges of the gum would eventually heal over? Eventually, he said, stressing the eventually, but then said that there were some protruding bits of bone he should remove, so apparently those bony ridges weren't supposed to be there. They really weren't bugging me that much, but he asked me to come in the next morning (*sigh*--I had THREE appointments that day alone!) to take care of that. So, back I went. This stuff all goes on before like 9AM, BTW.

Today they numbed me up, waited, asked if it was numb enough yet--their way of telling is if it's numb to the middle of the lip. It wouldn't get that numb, as numb as I remembered it being before, so I was worried. I can't recall if they gave me a second shot first or tried their hand at the bone, but either way, I ended up needing to be injected with anesthesia THREE times. The first time Dr. E. started in on the bone, I could feel some slight pain, so I needed more of the stuff. Finally with half my face numbed all to crap they start again, prying, digging, I hear a crack, ew ew ew. He then asks the assistant for something to pack the sockets even though they haven't been bothering me, so those get packed too, then gauze is put in. Dr. E. asks if I have painkillers; I say yes, but he writes a prescription for codeine anyway. (HELL YES did I get it filled.) Then asks if I have antibiotics. I say no, so I get a prescription for penicillin. ??? I hate antibiotics, they seem to always make me ill and I never seem to get infections anyway. *shrug*

I ask the assistant when the packs come out and she tells me they just dissolve on their own. Interesting. Wish I'd asked how long it takes. Are there any restrictions on what to eat or drink? Just don't use a straw, she says, and try to chew on the other side of the mouth. I never use straws, and pretty much HAVE to chew on the other side, neither of which has prevented dry socket! So I honestly have no clue how anybody does it.

I should stress just how hideous the empty sockets looked--you could literally see the little dark holes in the bottom where the tooth roots were, I presume. Eeurgh! Freakish.

Anyway, get home--my next appointment for more fillings isn't until late October, sheesh. Do my Internet stuff on my increasingly shitty Internet connection and finally start to feel an ache in my jaw...at last, by around noon or so, there is just this HIDEOUS, HIDEOUS ache all through the left side of my face and jaw, seriously, it's in the TM joint, the jaw itself, my ear, my cheek, even up toward my head. I think my face actually went numb again, it ached that much. Oooooooh it was so bad I finally took a codeine and then went to take a scalding hot bath and made sure to submerge my jaw. That made it feel so much better. It hasn't really hurt again since; I felt a twinge and took ibuprofen and it's okay so far. Still, even with as bad as that was, it was still nowhere near as bad as the websites say dry socket itself is supposed to be (though I assume this pain was from the bone trimming, not the sockets); it was just a really bad ache. I can handle that. It's sharp, stabbing nerve pain I can't stand! The websites don't say exactly WHAT kind of pain you get with dry socket, just that it's really bad. I'd rate that ache I had as perhaps a 6-6.5 on a scale of 1-10, but then again, I've never experienced any TRULY horrific pain in my life, so I'm not a good judge. (The worst pain I can remember feeling was pulling a groin muscle while cleaning my room--it was so bad I almost passed out. So you see the scale I have to judge on. Not like I've broken a bone or given birth or anything.) This was bad enough to perhaps wake me from sleep (the toothaches I got before this did so and they weren't as bad), bad enough to have me holding the side of my head and rocking back and forth and moaning, bad enough to convince me to waste a tub of hot water when it wasn't my bath day, but still, pfft compared to what I've been expecting. It's the thought of sharp stabbing nerve pain that makes me nervous.

I finally took out the gauze (not too much blood this time, at least) and checked out the sight in the mirror. EW, it's so gross. The three sockets are packed with brown stuff that looks like, well, stuffing. And kind of tastes like it too, because it's surely got cloves in it. There's a bit of clotted blood around them too. The bony ridges are gone as if they never were. The gum must have swollen somewhat; it's turned whitish on top, like it's dying or sloughing off, presumably the effect of the clove stuff because this stuff can burn tissue and it did feel kind of spicy/stingey (sic), so I can only assume the cloves or whatever causes the mild burning might have killed off some gum tissue; not bothersome, just gross. I can feel swelling on the bottom of the jaw though it's not soft, it's just this hard...egg or knob or whatever. *shrug* I ate some food and managed to be careful enough to keep the packs in, but they look a bit wobbly--the back one, in the shallowest but most painful socket (not that painful at all), looks to be wearing away, and the front one, in the annoying vacuum-suction socket, looks like it's going to pop out like a cork. The middle one looks stable but since they're supposed to dissolve, it's just a matter of time. Meh. I'm just 1. worried about what things'll feel like when they're gone--will the sockets hurt now that they've been packed?--they were fine without packs! and 2. REALLY irked about the vacuum effect in the first socket, I do wish I could keep the thing packed if only to keep that from happening. Damn, do I want some of my Reese's chocolate peanut butter bar, but that involves quite a bit of sucking on melting chocolate, and sucking means goodbye packs and hello annoying vacuum. Urgh do I wish this'd just heal over. Just way too gross for me. I'd gladly put up with it if my stupid bladder would get better, though.

But if that ache I experienced earlier is as bad as it gets, then meh, nothing like what I was dreading. And now that I've said that, hello, sharp stabbing nerve pain!

It is seriously like having Thanksgiving stuffing in my sockets. Eurgh. My mouth tastes like a pomander. At least, what I assume a pomander must taste like, were one to actually eat a pomander. I've never seen the point of pomanders, just seems like they'd attract bugs. *shrug*

Jeez, my typing skills seem quite lousy lately, so many typos, I type too fast. Can't count how much time I've spent backspacing this thing. I actually had "shrugh" typed there and didn't notice it until proofing. If I didn't proof I'd look drunk.

And the bizarre stream of Minot-themed erotica that will probably never see the light of day beyond my Kindle just continues, a bit abated, though not completely. Seriously WTF. These guys need a murder or something to focus on.

Have to go now, and hope these sockets behave themselves, so tar...

 

Nutbar! I may have written too soon. I have exposed jawbone below where the teeth were pulled! It's so gross! And it's growing! Apparently my tongue is eroding the gum tissue there because it's really thin, and there are areas of bone...it is beyond gross. I can feel a ridge of jawbone with my tongue right now. It started out as two small patches near the back and middle sockets, but now seems to be expanding. Plus I'm not sure about the clot state of the first socket. A suture came out--I mean, REALLY came out, it popped out of my mouth--this morning. Every time I look in there it just looks more disgusting. What concerns me is the bare bone areas are close to the sockets and look like they might overlap--could that end up causing true dry socket? Ugh, after all the precautions I took, too!

It doesn't hurt--YET. At worst it's tender and just a tad sore, more creepy and uncomfortable than anything, but all my logic tells me that exposed bone is not good and should be painful. I'm fairly certain it should grow back, considering the big chunks of gum tissue that sprang up around the real dry socket (yeah, gross too, I know), but still, at the moment it just looks like it's worsening and I'm so paranoid. I don't want nerve pain. I can't handle it. Ugh, this crap was supposed to GO AWAY with the teeth.

I do so hope that whatever this gross thing is it works itself out with a minimum of agony.

Meanwhile the disturbing slew of inexplicable erotica continues. I need to take a break to type up an actual dream I remembered for once. So, you man-whore Campion, keep your pants on and leave poor Reichert and every other person on Earth alone. And Kristeva and Natalie, why don't you two just sit and take a break for a while. After roughly 100kb and going you deserve it. Are lovebunnies Devetko and Brooks the only two not getting any? Cripes.

Cross fingers this disgusting development turns out being as much of a bust as my other tooth worries. I guess if it's not so, anyone reading this will be hearing all my whining soon enough. Tar...

 

Well, three more teeth gone. I think these are the last extractions and everything else is fillings; at least, I hope so. It was three molars all on the left bottom in a row, back to front. The very back one was in a situation similar to the one that broke on the other side while I was at the casino--eroding away at the bottom. The one closest the front had a chunk missing. The one in the middle was the really bothersome one. It too had a chunk missing--but the chunk happened to be right next to the nerve. I'd long learned to be very careful not to expose this tooth to any touching, but that didn't mean it didn't twinge; all I had to do sometimes was swirl mouthwash and it would twinge. And every time I got just the slightest twinge, I would lose my entire appetite and grow terribly depressed for the rest of the day. I decided I wanted these teeth to go next if possible. I could not get to the dentist soon enough--you know your teeth are bad when you LOOK FORWARD to seeing the dentist. So far I think he's a pretty decent doctor, better than the urologist, at least. MUCH better. Dr. E. greeted me when he first appeared at my first visit. Dr. M., the urologist, didn't, and that has stuck with me to this day. First impressions are very important to me and seem to color my entire perception of someone's personality from that day onward.

I show up--it's at 8:30 in the morning, but it takes over a half hour for them to get to me. When I get in there, the dental assistant, J., informs me they plan to do four fillings, unless I'd like something else taken care of. They always ask if there's anything in particular you want handled first. I think that's nice. Firstly I ask about the state of the remaining molar on the lower right, next to the one that was such a bother to pull out. There's a cavity or damage to the back, I can't tell which. Do they plan to fill it or pull it? Fill it, she says; is it bothering me? No, just wanted to make sure. Actually I want THESE three taken care of if possible, because I know all of them have to go, and the middle one is very bothersome. J. takes away the dental implements they'd had sitting on the tray; I apologize but she says it's no problem. Sign the oral surgery consent form; I browsed it this time and yes, it has all the horrible scenarios regarding tooth damage and open sinuses and breaking jaws and whatnot. They take an X-ray of the teeth in question. When J. sees it on the screen, she's amused that one of my teeth looks like it's "dancing" and offers to show me. I'm reluctant to look at my own teeth, but since they're going to go, decide to do so. I see the three teeth on the X-ray. The very back one has a wiggly root, which makes her think it looks like it's dancing. All I think is, I hope that doesn't make it harder to pull.

It's the middle tooth that interests me. I can see a bright area at the top that is apparently the old, and now obsolete, filling. I can see the darker area inside that is the pulp/nerve, and I can see a darker area that is the part that's broken out. She compares this to the other broken tooth, which hasn't proven bothersome yet. I'm appalled to see that the broken section of the bothersome middle tooth is RIGHT AT THE TIP OF THE NERVE. Both J. and Dr. E. say they can see why I want that one out. Hideous. Dr. E. says I want to get the last scary part of the visits out of the way, which is what leads me to believe these should be the last extractions, *crossing fingers.*

They numb me up and then set to work. I've been worried about getting THREE IN A ROW removed, wondering if I'll bleed to death. Plus I'll have to try harder to avoid dry socket, because I really lucked out the last time (it's still healing over, albeit in a very weird, ugly way, but, well, at least it doesn't hurt...), I doubt I'll luck out a third time regarding no extraction pain. They set to work on the first tooth in the back, but as they're prying I start to feel just the tiniest twinges of pain in the jaw. I think that's not so bad and it's normal, deal with it, but I'm just so paranoid of horrible stabbing pain, so I let out little noises. Dr. E. asks if it hurts, I mumble, "A little." So they stop, and inject me with more anesthesia, wait for it to kick in, and start over. I don't feel anything this time except a lot of pushing and pulling. *whew* "This one's happy where it is!" Dr. E. exclaims over one of the teeth. "It's a happy camper!" I'm so worried about that middle tooth, so when I hear, "Two down, one to go!" I'm quite relieved. Eventually they get them all out; Dr. E. sutures something, I'm not sure why, I don't think he had to cut the gum this time. *shrug* He's about to write me a painkiller prescription, but J. informs him I didn't even have to use the codeine I was given last time, so I can use that. Ta-da, they're all gone; no more twingey (sic?) tooth.

Then, ta-da, I start to pass out. Well, at least I'm still in the chair. I start flexing and extending my fingers, making fists as this happens, since for some reason it just feels like what to do when fainting. (I looked back on the infamous Big Boy fainting episode and I did the same thing then; didn't remember that.) It's just instinctive or reflexive. J. is quite fascinated by this and once I recover, asks me all sorts of questions about the condition, how frequently I pass out, what causes it--anxiety?--and why it is that I clench my fists. I explain as best I can that it's often nausea that causes my fainting, though it's been other things, such as overheating or standing too long, and anxiety probably plays into it too, since I think the anxiety accounts for much of the nausea I feel (the Big Boy incident came about when I felt a broken tooth and grew anxious--God, things'll be so much better without those teeth). It only happens once in a while with me; I don't chronically faint. As for making fists, I tell her I seem to do it to get blood flowing and start feeling again (in the older entry I used the term "grounding," which explains it better, since it's both physical and mental). It never occurred to me to question it; it's just something I do, and I figured I was the only one who did, but she tells me her daughter apparently has syncope and faints quite often, and she too does the fist thing. Interesting. I've long found this fainting phenomenon intriguing. How do I work, she asks, with this condition?--or do I work? I tell her I'm on disability for anxiety; unrelated to this, though. She thinks about applying her daughter for disability again since she faints so often, she missed much of the school year. I can't imagine being so anxious as to faint that often; my own condition is just random and occasional.

I later look up syncope at Wikipedia and find that the fistmaking thing is quite common and, yes, is an attempt by the body to get the blood flowing better or some such (the language was quite technical to me); one suggestion for dealing with a fainting episode is to cross the legs. The last time I started to pass out at the dentist's office, I remember I drew my legs up to sit Indian style in the chair, because it felt so awful having my legs extended when I was so faint. So this is all quite informative. I always figured one would WANT to be stretched out when fainting, and couldn't understand why I can't stand it.

Anyway, after I get over that, I spot the three teeth, again, lying on the tray, all bright red. Tools obscure two of them; I see the first tooth, the one that had a chunk out of it but wasn't bothersome, but I don't look at the others as I think J. is ready for me to leave. I wish I'd looked at the problem tooth, just to see what the hideous thing was like. Too late now. Get gauze packed in my mouth (that actually happened a bit earlier, of course) and head home. Get my instill later on (the nurse asks me if the paper towel sticking out of my mouth is a new fashion statement, when I tell her I had three molars pulled she exclaims, "Stop talking! Bite down hard!"). Two doctor appointments in one day; I think I have THREE on the same day next week. *groan*

Spend the rest of the entire day bleeding and bleeding and bleeding like crazy. Will it never stop? I don't know whether to keep packing in gauze (and then paper towels, they're cheaper and more plentiful, and easier to handle, since I can't bring myself to look in my mouth to position the gauze packs) and stanch the blood, or to keep it open and let the blood flow so it can clot and thus avoid dry socket. I try both. Both are bothersome. I can hardly eat my cottage cheese with the paper towels in my mouth (I barely manage, then don't eat anything else the rest of the night, oh yeah, hadn't eaten anything the rest of the DAY, either, here I am bleeding like crazy and not eating, imagine how lovely and lightheaded I felt), and when I try leaving the stuff out, all I get is blood filling half my mouth, and it's so disgusting. I end up keeping it packed until shortly before bed, when I at last let it go, take a codeine just in case, because it feels a tad achey, and go to sleep. A couple of times when I wake up I still taste blood, but by morning it's done, and it looks as if all three sockets have clotted over, which is good. There are sutures between them; don't get that. I unfortunately, when looking at these, caught a glimpse of two teeth closer to the front and saw how bad they look--that's how my incisors must have looked. I immediately want them fixed too because it's so humiliating, but tell myself the teeth they planned to fill before are more important since I chew with them; can't get it all done in one day.

I had some slight aching of the jaw and face and other side of the throat and whatnot from all the pushing and pulling; it was hard to open my jaw all the way for a while. Not that I wanted to, it would dislodge the paper towels/gauze. Rinsed with saltwater today and ate. These sockets are so gross looking, but ah well. It's just so nice to have those bothersome things out of there. Weirdly, my tongue doesn't notice that they're gone, unlike the other side. I keep twisting it around the way I used to do, backwards and with the tip lightly touching the edge of the bad tooth to test how it's doing, and there is no bad tooth to test. Fantastic. I hope I qualify for a partial.

So that's six teeth extracted over three sessions, and no real pain to speak of. This has all been remarkably simple. Strange. Of course, I have yet to make sure these three don't get dry socket, since it can still happen (especially now that I've mentioned it), but I'm trying to be careful not to suck too much though that's hard. (No dirty thoughts.)

Speaking of dirty thoughts, I do not know what the deal is, but I've been writing erotica scenes like crazy for the past few weeks. Mostly regarding my Minot detectives. WTF. I can't seem to stop. I started one with Kristeva and Natalie and it's turned from one scene into a lot of scenes tied together through narrative devices, similar to "Milk Cartons" only messier. (The ending of "Milk Cartons" is like the only thing I HAVEN'T gotten back to yet. No one's interested in it anyway.) For several days, I felt terribly drained and exhausted, and twitchy, and I couldn't figure out why; I honestly think it was the erotica doing it, because when I let up some, that went away. How strange. A few of these scenes have already appeared onsite, but the rest, I don't know, I seem to keep putting my different characters in similar situations, and I'd hate to bore people (I don't tend to get comments aside from the very, very occasional "Great story!" (how trite), "Keep writing!" (WTF did you think I was going to do?), or obvious portfolio raider trying to get points or whatever (I wish these people would not read/comment on my work unless they WANT to, not because they get points from a port raiding group or however it works--seriously, it seems like EVERY review I get that's more than one sentence is from these guys, and I never hear from them again--the other people who give me public reviews, which is like everybody who reviews me (indicating they're doing it for points, not because they want to...), aren't even aware that their one-sentence "reviews" don't qualify to show up on the public reviews page!)) or make them think, "Does she have some kind of fetish?" so they might never see the light of day. Kind of a shame, considering how much damn time I'm spending on them! (Campion, BTW, from "Kid Gloves," is turning into quite a man-whore, giving Reichert a run for his money, though a man-whore generous (but still creepy) toward prostitutes (he really overpays them--"What will this get me?" he always asks, and the answer is almost invariably "Anything you want!"--afterwards leaves while they're occupied, leaving behind the room key after paying for the room for the rest of the day/night), and who at least practices safe sex pretty consistently. Despite being a heroin addict. (He uses clean needles too.) And spends an odd amount of time surfing on free Wi-Fi in cheap motel rooms, apparently looking up info on Reichert and Kristeva. Weird.)

I recall quite a while back stumbling across a website provider/webmaster offering apparently free pages/space for writers of erotica, at least, I think that's what the deal was, since each user (all linked to someplace on the main site, can't recall the order of it all) had various adult stories on their particular pages. The site said to ask for space if you wanted it but I figured I didn't qualify because nobody knows who I am or what my writing is, I'm basically a nobody, despite my best efforts it's not like anybody can say, "Oh, this story must be a Tehuti!" Probably should've written it down. Oh well. They've probably gone under by now.

Hm, this socket feels twingey. Perhaps I need more ibuprofen.

I probably had more to say but meh, unimportant. May as well end on a weird note. Tar...

 

Dear Mr. Pat Robertson,

If someone in my family comes down with Alzheimer's, may I shoot or otherwise kill them to put them out of their misery? Seeing as, according to you, a person with Alzheimer's is "gone, gone, gone" and this disorder is "a kind of death," hence such a sufferer is pretty much dead, and this is grounds enough to divorce such a person because you've already reached "till death do us part," then killing such a sufferer wouldn't be considered murder, would it? I mean, how can you murder someone who's already dead, yes?

Since a person with autism can technically be said to be as "gone, gone, gone" as someone with Alzheimer's, or somebody who suffers from schizophrenic delusions, or somebody who is so depressed as to be catatonic, surely they count among the people who are already dead, so may we kill them all, too?

Should you come down with any such disorder of the brain may we shoot or otherwise kill you as well?

Looking forward to your reply,

--Tehuti

 

Well, here's my pathetic little contribution to 9/11. I worked all evening getting this put up here; didn't quite get it done, but it should be soon. Ah well.

ID: 1809503   (Rated: XGC) Milk Cartons Pt. 1  Before September 11th and after. by Tehuti, Lord Of The Eight

Well, apparently, I believe I got dry socket. That's when a blood clot doesn't form or else washes away from the socket of an extracted tooth so it doesn't heal quickly, and leaves a big ugly hole exposing the bare bone of the jaw or whatnot. I kept the gauze in there until it got soaked, changed it, then changed it again, but I was trying to drink and eat, and found I couldn't with gauze in there, and figured it had been long enough anyway (they only tell you to keep it in for an hour or so anyway, I think), so I took it out for good. I hadn't gotten dry socket with my other teeth so I figured it wouldn't be a problem.

Well, no blood clot developed, or rather, I probably sucked it away since I compulsively swallow, and I swallow even more when I'm thinking about not swallowing. I saw white stuff in the socket which I assumed was some kind of mucus, but when I poked at it, it was hard. It was tooth or bone!! (Most likely a hidden wisdom tooth, since they said I had another one that isn't a problem yet.) Then eventually I could look down in this hole and see something dark in the bottom, which I assume is the exposed jaw, though I have no clue why it's dark. It's completely freaky. In any case, big gaping empty socket with exposed jawbone. Not good. Especially considering that when I went looking up dry socket online again (I'd already briefly looked it up following my other extractions, but wasn't too worried since they clotted over nicely), EVERY website I visited described how the pain is so horrific, you'll 1. think you're dying or 2. wish you were dead. That got me terribly worried. I figured this extraction wouldn't go so well since the first two were painless. Bound to get some pain sometime. There's no treatment for dry socket aside from pain management and keeping the site clean; I checked this again because I had no clue whether I should keep gauze over it to keep it clean, or keep it exposed to heal better, since I know that sometimes if you keep a bandage on a cut too long it won't heal properly, it needs dry air. Sites just said to keep it clean. Fear of horrific nerve pain hit me and I went looking for treatments. All the sites I visited agreed that either clove oil or something called the Red Cross Tooth Ache Kit were miracles for dry socket. Looked for either at Wal-Mart, of course they didn't have them, but Walgreens had the latter. Was surprised by how small it was for a "kit," just a little bottle with tweezers and little cotton balls, apparently. Was also surprised to learn that the stuff in this kit was the same stuff as in clove oil, so that was good. Bought this teeny little kit and brought it home and awaited the horrific, horrific pain everyone said I should be feeling within several days of the extraction. This was like three days afterward, so...

Waited and waited. Kept the socket clean. Ate only softish foods--nothing but mashed potatoes, ramen noodles, and cottage cheese anymore, which is getting tiresome. Rinsed frequently with warm saltwater, which kept it clean and cleaned out the food that inevitably made its way into this hideous gaping socket. I got some bad, strong aches in its general area, but they were the same as what I felt before I got the tooth out, so that was nothing new or terrible, I moaned and groaned about them but they were nothing horrible like dry socket is supposed to be. Ibuprofen (and one night, the hydrocodone, though it probably did nothing but make me groggy) handled those. They seem to have faded. I think it's been like a week and a half now and at last, tissue seems to be forming over the exposed wisdom tooth or whatever it is, and the hole seems to be drawing in on the sides a bit (ah yes, one side of the sutures healed well, the other seemed to come loose so the gum is still split like a harelip, are you thoroughly disgusted yet?--the sutures then mysteriously vanished on Sunday night, which was quite weird to me, as they'd been there just hours before, fully intact); I think I can handle harder foods, but am refraining because there's a cavity on the back of the remaining molar, and I want that fixed before I chew on it and end up with ANOTHER broken tooth, likely on a Saturday evening! Plus the upper teeth on this side seem achey (achy?) and that bothers me, want that checked out if possible. I'm supposed to get the other bad ones extracted next but they can wait, they've been that way forever. I hope they don't have to pull this one molar. Am still having to pull ramen noodles and whatnot out of the damn socket, the other day I stormed out of the room with an exclamation of "There's a curd in my socket!"--a sentence I honestly never thought I'd have any occasion to use. Started brushing my teeth again since, even though it urges you to continue doing that, no way in hell was I going to brush with this giant gaping hole and the fear of touching the exposed jaw and suffering pain so great I would want to die.

I'll probably regret saying it, but, are my gums just impervious to pain or something? Because aside from those strong aches, which as I said are nothing new, I haven't felt that horrific you'll-wish-you-were-dead pain...yet. The websites seemed unequivocal saying it will be bad. I mentioned it to the nurse who does my bladder instills, and she exclaimed that she'd had a dry socket once, it was so horrible, perhaps I should go back to the dentist. (The only thing a dentist can do is pack the socket with gauze soaked with an analgesic and something to speed healing along; you have to go back several times to get it changed, which would be a terrible pain, seeing as I'm seeing this dentist on Medicaid so I'm not a high priority, they're really overbooked, and I have no transportation.) So I sat and waited with my little Red Cross Tooth Ache Kit but haven't had need to use it, or even the codeine, yet. That's not to say it hasn't been really irritating, like having a huge papercut in my jaw...I hate papercuts. Especially when they're stuffed with ramen noodles. You wouldn't believe how much ramen noodle can fit in a tooth socket. It's like extracting worms or something.

I'm worried the pain's just taking its precious time, but it looks like it won't be coming. I find this remarkably odd. Get a wonky way-up-in-the-gum canine and a sideways wisdom tooth yanked, no pain. Get a bad molar yanked (and quite violently at that, they pulled and pushed and pulled and finally had to cut the gum to get it out) and get dry socket, no pain...so far. Weird. It's like I have gums of steel. Now I'll likely regret saying that. I'd gladly tolerate it if only my stupid bladder would improve.

It's irritating, I'm curious whenever 9/11 footage comes on TV, but Dad always rolls his eyes and makes a snarky comment about it being overdone and changes the channel, so I guess if I'm that interested I'll probably have to find DVDs. I tuned in in time to see the North Tower collapse on live television. You know, I had no clue what the World Trade Center even looked like until it was half gone--I never knew it was two big towers and a bunch of smaller buildings. Stupid, huh? What bugs me is my memory of that day is not too clear. I'm fairly certain I was offline, doing something on the computer, and Ma called me from work and told me to turn on the TV, but that's all I really recall. That and a vague memory of disbelief seeing something so tall just collapse like an accordion. It's kind of like what happened for me with the Challenger explosion; I didn't witness it live, and I was numb and detached throughout the whole time following (I was in third grade, what could be expected?)--I even remember being irritated by the amount of news coverage--but now whenever I see that on TV I start shaking and crying. Hence why Columbia upset me so much.

Another thing that bugs me and makes me feel rather ashamed. I kept my textbook from the abnormal psychology class I had in college (1995-97). In the section talking about post-traumatic stress disorder, there is a photograph of a swooning woman smudged with smoke being helped along by two equally smudged police officers; it's a photo of the 1993 WTC bombing. Next to this, I long ago jokingly wrote in the caption, "Man, THAT movie was a bomb." I still have that book and it still has that caption. Talk about poor taste. I hope I've learned to be a bit more tactful since then.

My interest in the subject pertains to the more morbid things they of course will not and probably will never show...I'm kind of ashamed to admit that, too. I occasionally visit sites like Rotten.com...there used to be a worse but more frequently updated one called Ogrish.com but I think it changed or disappeared...and look at the dead and mutilated bodies and just wonder, what's this person's story? How did this happen? It always bothered me that such sites are more interested in shock, and not in commentary or info, so such details are usually not provided. Just disturbing pictures. I'm always wondering what people thought before they died. I learned it would take about ten seconds for the North Tower jumpers to reach the ground. How horrible was that, to have ten full seconds in which to see the ground coming up at you and knowing you're going to be dead, getting close enough to see the faces of the people on the ground but by then it's too late? I have a newish book, 102 Minutes: The Unforgettable Story Of The Fight To Survive Inside The Twin Towers, I believe it's called or something like that...a lot of the accounts in the book are from people who didn't make it. Just looking at the subtitle of the book breaks my heart. No one should've had to fight to survive and there shouldn't've been such a large number who didn't make it.

I have a long, long, long, LONG novella touching on this, which I rather hope to have the rough version of done by then, though who knows, it's so damn long. It'll have to be broken up. Nobody will read it, but meh. Just saying. I've learned over the past several days that Det. Reichert has an odd fondness for the F word that I was never aware of before. Cripes he needs his mouth washed out.

Have to go now, tar...

 

So, while enjoying the buffet at the casino in St. Ignace Saturday evening, I suddenly feel a pain in my back bottom right molar, and next thing I know I'm missing half a tooth. The last time I saw the dentist, Dr. E., they'd scheduled me to get this removed in late September. I can hardly go a month being unable to chew on EITHER side of my mouth (and can't do a liquid diet, with my IC), so this was quite distressing; there are simply no recourses on a Saturday evening. The dentist's wasn't open on Monday. I managed on cottage cheese and mashed potatoes. Lots of mashed potatoes. Ma left them a message on Monday asking if I could come in to see them as soon as possible. We didn't hear back Tuesday and I was quite peeved. Next thing I know it's Wednesday morning, not even eight AM yet, and my mother is startling me out of bed with "Get dressed! They're ready for you!" I didn't even have time to wash my hair or, get this, brush my teeth. I did swirl some mouthwash, at least.

Go to the dentist's office and am greeted by name by the receptionist (they know me already?--wow). Say I'm sorry, they say it's okay. Get in to the...whatever, the exam room, where they do all the stuff. Explain to the dental assistant what's happened, get an X-ray taken, Dr. E. arrives to look at the tooth as well. Inject the anesthesia into my cheek and let me sit and get all numb. Dental assistant asks if I was given any painkillers last time; I say they gave me Vicodin, but it didn't seem to do anything (I didn't have to use it for the extractions, but I had a really bad ache in my jaw for a couple of weeks--probably due to the bad molar--tried everything including the Vicodin and nothing helped); she says she could prescribe me Tylenol #3 or something, which is stronger as it's codeine (I thought that's what hydrocodone was?), but warns me it could make me ill; I decide to hold off for now. Numbed up at last, Dr. E. requests a particular instrument from the assistant and I guess it's brought, and he sets to work prying and prying at my tooth. It feels like he's both trying to shoehorn under it, like the oral surgeon did with my weird teeth, as well as push down on it from above, which makes no sense to me. This goes on for quite a while. I'm perplexed, since it took the oral surgeon just a few moments to remove my problem teeth, why is a simple molar taking so long? I thought I'd be in and out. Dr. E. quits and requests some other sort of instrument and sets to work again. More prying and pushing. This goes on so long that by the time he leaves the room to get something else, I start getting faint, and almost lose consciousness. The dental assistant remarks about how pale I'm getting. Oddly, I find that drawing my stretched-out legs in toward myself helps a bit, though so does the cold cloth she puts on my forehead. I eventually come back around and Dr. E. tries something else. Apparently the tooth should come out as easily as anything, if only they could get a good grip on it, and the tooth is not complying. There is so much prying and pushing that I feel a few unpleasant twinges deep in my jaw and whimper a little bit but that's all. Dr. E. requests something to cut into the gum because he can't get it out otherwise. I hear some strange drilling noises and a few cracks. (Ew ick ick.) More prying and such and then finally Dr. E. says, "It's out!"

"Thank God!" I exclaim in a muffled voice. I was honestly worried something horrendous was going to happen, like the roots would remain stuck in my jaw forever, ew ick. Dr. E. has to suture up my gum. Gauze packed in my cheek as before, extra gauze and a wet cloth (I press it to my mouth and the assistant expresses amusement, I think it's meant for my forehead instead) and an instruction sheet given me to care for the extraction (nowhere near as hideous sounding as the one the oral surgeon gave me to read--nothing about breaking the jaw, though then again I didn't read the consent form they had me sign--I remember seeing a brochure about TMJ disorders in the window and wondering if I should snatch one, all that prying at my mouth couldn't have been good for my jaw); after Dr. E. heads off to his next patient, who I probably made him late for, I tell the assistant I think I'd like a prescription for that codeine after all, just in case, considering how much prying I went through. And I spot my extracted tooth lying on the tray. It looks so pathetically small. Strangely, it doesn't have four separate roots as I'd expected--they're all packed together so it's almost like a cone. It's bright red. Odd. The assistant probably thinks I'm strange when I pick it up and look at it. I almost take it with me but decide that would be TOO weird. Maybe they do something with the teeth they pull out? *shrug*

Go home where I haven't any ice packs to use as the instruction sheet advises, so take a sherbet-type thing from the freezer and press it to my jaw/neck instead. There's no horrific pain but it feels so weird! I think my tongue is swollen because the remaining molar feels as if it's intruding on my tongue's space, like it's been moved closer into my mouth, when that's impossible, so the tongue must either be overlapping it due to swelling, or I just have to get used to the weirdness of the feeling. I'm worried to feel a bit of a rough edge on the back side of the tooth; I hope it's just a small cavity that they'll fill, and doesn't mean that THIS tooth will go bad, too; they haven't mentioned having to pull this one. I almost pulled out the suture, thinking it was a piece of skin or something left behind; fortunately I realized what it was in time and left it alone. Changed the gauze several times, so disgusting, so much blood. (I'd taken both ibuprofen AND Excedrin the night before!) Gingerly ate some of my cottage cheese since I was so hungry, lost my appetite after feeling the rough edge on the other side of the tooth. Decided to give up on the gauze as I had before and just hope that it dries up on its own, though I think it might still be bleeding some, I tell myself that either 1. it's expected since the gum was cut, or 2. if it continues, just put gauze on it again! I can't help it, it skeeves me out, and I really hope I get used to how odd it feels; I really want to be able to chew on the remaining molar. I thought taking the bad one out would quickly remedy that but ew. Ate mashed potatoes again tonight. I love mashed potatoes, but they don't love me.

Have taken some ibuprofen in case this is swelling I'm experiencing--strangely, what little pain I'm feeling seems to be in my tongue and throat, not my gum or jaw--and hope that it doesn't get infected or some such. At least they got me in pretty fast, even if I had to jump out of bed at an ungodly hour and rush in there. Goodness. I have THREE bad teeth that need to be removed on the OTHER side. (I don't even have any idea about my UPPER jaw!) I do hope they don't give nearly as much trouble as that one did! I'd probably hemorrhage to death.

So now I have a nearly full bottle of generic Vicodin and a full bottle of generic codeine just in case. Hoping I won't need them, since I don't think they'll help any. Perhaps I'm impervious to opiates. Go figure.

Speaking of opiates, in a new XGC-rated item I have what is probably the most spoiler-filled intro I will ever post to the Internet, giving away half of one of my storylines which will probably never otherwise see the light of day. I don't think anyone will read it or even be remotely interested. Oh well. It's the only way it'll ever get out there in any case. Was going to post it tonight but it needs a brief looking-over and I tell myself, I have no need to jump at posting it immediately, nobody's going to fall all over themselves about it or comment even if they do.

This hasn't been proofed so I reserve the right to do that tomorrow. Tar.

(Changed my mind and proofed it anyway since it would bother me no end. Tar again.)

 

I'm wondering if I might have to set this blog to private or restricted for a time. It's gotten over 200 hits today (8/26), which is completely unwarranted and inexplicable, considering that anything over 5 hits per day is a lot. (Me: "Oh, ten hits to my blog today? Somebody must've been bored.") Lots and lots of hits make me leery of either 1. family interference or 2. stalking. I've dealt with both and both were horrible. So if this blog "disappears" just ask for the passkey until it blows over, whatever it is; my referral stats are telling me nothing.

I have TWO Mackinac Island entries I must write up and post, one from the beginning of June (!) when I went with Tara and her family, and the most recent, when I was rained out! Getting rained out on a trip has been my biggest fear aside from the camera malfunctioning. But you know what? I'm glad it happened. Sure, my hind end got soaked and I made myself into a lightning rod with my umbrella (which I was smart(?) enough to bring along), but the PICTURES I got! They're GORGEOUS! I wanted to take Lydia Trail, I believe it is; I almost didn't as it just would not stop raining, but I told myself, meh, you only live once, already soaked, might as well do it. And I'm so glad I did. It was a GORGEOUS trail, full of gloomy cedar woods and lots of hills and hollows. It wouldn't have looked nearly as good in the sunlight. I know, because I have pictures from sunny periods of the mouth of this trail, and of gloomy periods, and the sunny ones are just...blech. I rather wish I'd enjoyed myself more rather than worrying about getting the camera wet. These pictures are fabulous, the best I've gotten in years. Too bad that they'll likely never see the light of the Internet, what with my connection. I should go when it's rainy again sometime. But first I'll need a decent rain poncho like almost everybody else on the island was smart enough to have. (Except the unprotected guy who, passing me with my umbrella on British Landing Road, muttered, "The one smart person on the island!" )

I'm thinking about Det. Reichert an obsessive lot lately. Probably because of 9/11. I'm suddenly quite interested in 9/11. I guess that's my new obscure interest, close on the heels of Roma/Gypsies and schizophrenia and the Hillsborough soccer disaster. And the Ultima computer game. Yes, I have weird interests. I could blather on forever about all the Reichert-related stuff that's been going through my head but why bother? There's a bit in my newest X-rated thingums. Who cares. I do this weird thing where I type up imaginary forum posts as if my stories are published and made into movies and everybody is chattering about the plot and characters and you would not believe how long the "REICHERT THE MAN-WHORE!" imaginary thread has been going on, even I've learned some stuff about him I never knew before, like for example he has a mysterious "9/11" box among all the other unpacked stuff in his dingy little Minot apartment (despite living there for SEVERAL YEARS now, he STILL hasn't unpacked his stuff from NY) but despite that he insists it means nothing. Is this habit rather weird of me? Not like I can blather about it anywhere else but in my imaginary forums.

Oh isn't this lovely? Now that I've decided to type up an entry, and am about done, my Internet connection is giving out. That's so nice and typical. I guess I better post this while it might even give me the frigging chance. Tar...