When half my tooth crumbled and fell out of my mouth last night, my first thought (well, after the incoherent "what the fu......?" one) was: I wonder when and how this image will show up in a poem?
Most people would think me weird for that. Not that I care. :)
We all have silly things that frighten us, some more than others. Some people are terrified to fly. Others are terrified of snakes, bridges, poverty, the dark. Me, I'm deathly afraid of dentists. I remember once the late great Warren Zevon was interviewed, after he'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and he said that he'd always been afraid of doctors and that ended up not working out so well for him. With dentists, it's not even so much the fear of pain (though that's there) as the fact that it freaks me out to have someone all up in my face like that, and having my face pushed around, and having someone's hands all in my mouth.
Happily, the new dentist I went to today has very small hands.
So tonight I have one tooth less, and one bottle of vicodin more, than I did before. And eventually, the experience of forcing myself to stay in that chair will turn up in a poem.
I hope it's a funny one. The world needs more funny dental poems.
For the record: when a tooth falls apart and a big piece falls out of your mouth? It feels just like it does in those dreams where your teeth crumble.
On a happier note, I fired up NASA TV online at work today to watch the shuttle launch. It made me really happy. There was one shot from the camera mounted on the fuel tank, looking back at the earth, where first you could see the coastline of Florida and then later the blue curve of the planet.
Years and years and years ago, the very first book of poetry I fell in love with was The Space Child's Mother Goose. I was a child of the Space Age, through and through.
It all connects up somehow, or would if it weren't for this Vicodin.
Things fall apart, just a little, things crumble when we're not expecting them to. But we dope ourselves up and we carry on. And that's what life is all about.
Dear Muse: Please excuse Anne from getting anything done tonight, as she is doped to the gills following her extraction. Sincerely, [illegible scrawl]