radfrac_archive: (Harold Ross of the New Yorker)
Or particularly over the left manibular first molar.

It appears that this will be the summer of teeth. It's always good to have a unifying theme.

Today: checkup, x-rays, general dismay on the part of my tender-hearted dentist. She is actually the daughter of my previous dentist, who retired in the interval between my being told to come back in six months and my actual return, being some four years in all, and encompassing a protracted sojourn in Vancouver.

This delay was not, you will be calculating, a good idea. There is talk of a root canal. There are other inflammatory pronouncements. Thursday next is the day of discovery, the crisis of the teeth, the great excavation. After that, we will know more.

The dentist seems to face this upcoming ordeal with much more dread than I feel. I confess I'm curious. What, my idle mind idly wonders, will a root canal be like?

Fscking terrible? Or just medium awful?

Anyway, that is where the money, real and pretend, is all going to go this year. I forget who said, though, that suffering might make us artists, but having a sore tooth does no one any good.

{rf}

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