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disappointed_lesbianToday was going to be the day I went to the hardware store to replace the screw I need for my humidifier, but I stopped by my dental office first because I like the feeling of getting multiple errands done in a row and because it was mid-afternoon and the office might have been closed by the time I got back from the hardware store, which is across town.
I was supposed to have been called about an appointment with the dental hygienist months ago, but no one ever called. The receptionist said that someone had just cancelled, so I was able to be seen about ten minutes later.
It had been a long time since my last cleaning. I was in the chair for about an hour and a half. The hygienist scraped and scraped and scratched and probed my teeth, and I worried that some of the muck wouldn't come off. It didn't really hurt, but some of it had a nails-on-chalkboard quality to it. I guess going so long without a cleaning is why my mouth has been feeling less-than-fresh recently. It's good that I got them cleaned before I went on a date.
This was the best cleaning I'd had in a while. My mouth is sensitive due to receeding gums, and she was great at not hurting me. My last dentist didn't seem to give a damn besides offering to refer me to someone who would do the cleaning with anesthesia, which, he informed me, my insurance wouldn't cover. He also kept interrupting me when I tried to ask questions. I stopped going to him after three visits.
Not only was the procedure mostly pain-free, it seemed thorough. This was the first time I'd had my gum recession measured.
I got some toothpaste for sensitive teeth. I also got some disposable gloves. I've been meaning to buy some because I read something on Reddit about wearing plastic gloves to keep one's hands warm, which I sorely need in the early mornings because my hands eventually begin aching so badly that I can't concentrate on my studies and have to come home early. I haven't been able to afford any because they come in boxes of 6 zillion. So I asked the hygienist for some. Tomorrow morning I'll be trying out the gloves, underneath my regular gloves (if they'll fit). I'm afraid I'll end up with sweaty hands, like I ended up with a sweaty bag when I tried to keep my feet warm the same way I'm now trying to keep my hands warm. Sweat is more manageable than cold, however.
I feel indescribably sick when I think about all the warped experiences I've had in life with other people. From my abusive narcissist of a father to my passive and neglectful mother to my catty younger sister to my college "friend" the sexual predator to the abusive racist I ended up dating to the asshole who pulled the rifle on me to the hostile and presumptuous people all over the Internet who responded to me without reading, acted like I said things I never said, got offended when I simply tried to have a conversation with them, most things involving other people have been profoundly dysfunctional.
My fallback plan is suicide. It's like my insides have mostly rotted away, and there's not enough living flesh to bother saving me: true, it's not my fault that I'm rotting away, but it's me that's rotting, and so it's me that must go. But I'm thinking now that cardiac arrest might be too painful. Ah, no, it'll be fine. I remember what it feels like to be suicidal, and cardiac arrest will probably be nothing compared to that. It may even be welcome, in fact; physical pain takes away the sting of psychological angst. But if my cardiac arrest takes away too much of the sting...I might want to keep on living. And it might be too late by then. Oh well. Suicide is never a mistake because, as I like to say, the dead suffer no consequences.
I was supposed to have been called about an appointment with the dental hygienist months ago, but no one ever called. The receptionist said that someone had just cancelled, so I was able to be seen about ten minutes later.
It had been a long time since my last cleaning. I was in the chair for about an hour and a half. The hygienist scraped and scraped and scratched and probed my teeth, and I worried that some of the muck wouldn't come off. It didn't really hurt, but some of it had a nails-on-chalkboard quality to it. I guess going so long without a cleaning is why my mouth has been feeling less-than-fresh recently. It's good that I got them cleaned before I went on a date.
This was the best cleaning I'd had in a while. My mouth is sensitive due to receeding gums, and she was great at not hurting me. My last dentist didn't seem to give a damn besides offering to refer me to someone who would do the cleaning with anesthesia, which, he informed me, my insurance wouldn't cover. He also kept interrupting me when I tried to ask questions. I stopped going to him after three visits.
Not only was the procedure mostly pain-free, it seemed thorough. This was the first time I'd had my gum recession measured.
I got some toothpaste for sensitive teeth. I also got some disposable gloves. I've been meaning to buy some because I read something on Reddit about wearing plastic gloves to keep one's hands warm, which I sorely need in the early mornings because my hands eventually begin aching so badly that I can't concentrate on my studies and have to come home early. I haven't been able to afford any because they come in boxes of 6 zillion. So I asked the hygienist for some. Tomorrow morning I'll be trying out the gloves, underneath my regular gloves (if they'll fit). I'm afraid I'll end up with sweaty hands, like I ended up with a sweaty bag when I tried to keep my feet warm the same way I'm now trying to keep my hands warm. Sweat is more manageable than cold, however.
I feel indescribably sick when I think about all the warped experiences I've had in life with other people. From my abusive narcissist of a father to my passive and neglectful mother to my catty younger sister to my college "friend" the sexual predator to the abusive racist I ended up dating to the asshole who pulled the rifle on me to the hostile and presumptuous people all over the Internet who responded to me without reading, acted like I said things I never said, got offended when I simply tried to have a conversation with them, most things involving other people have been profoundly dysfunctional.
My fallback plan is suicide. It's like my insides have mostly rotted away, and there's not enough living flesh to bother saving me: true, it's not my fault that I'm rotting away, but it's me that's rotting, and so it's me that must go. But I'm thinking now that cardiac arrest might be too painful. Ah, no, it'll be fine. I remember what it feels like to be suicidal, and cardiac arrest will probably be nothing compared to that. It may even be welcome, in fact; physical pain takes away the sting of psychological angst. But if my cardiac arrest takes away too much of the sting...I might want to keep on living. And it might be too late by then. Oh well. Suicide is never a mistake because, as I like to say, the dead suffer no consequences.
