If what I'm looking for is to stop feeling, I've found a dental procedure to handle it. Getting my wisdom teeth out is like signing up for catharsis. I've been seated on the couch watching Kurosawa movies–well, kind of watching them. I've been sinking in and out of sleep during Kurosawa movies, and the whole subtitles thing doesn't translate well through oxycodone and whatever-the-hell-else is in my bloodstream.
Honestly, though, the removal of wisdom teeth is such a strange ritual anyway. It is like a rite-of-passage, nearly every college student or young adult has a story to tell when the incident of wisdom teeth is mentioned. Whether someone chimes in with a "I had dry-socket" or a "I cursed out my nurses," we all seem to have a story, and creating an amalgamation out of all those stories when anticipating your own extraction–well–that's just absurdly fun.
So, I found some stimulus to write in becoming completely numb; there's some social commentary in there, but it's not worth fleshing out.
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2 comments:
Some swear that writing is better under the influence. You let me know, and I'll give it a shot.
Ps... keep lots of ice on it all the time, with a scarf and two of those blue rubber ice bags. It'll keep the swelling and pain down.
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