Sunday, March 14, 2010, 11:31 PM
I poured dry coffee creamer over my Cherrios this morning. I meant to pour the sugar. But I ate it anyway and it wasn't that bad. It wasn't that good, either, but maybe it was a mistake meant to happen. A double dose of calcium for strong bones and teeth.
They have chocolate Cherrios now and I simply must try them. Not to mention, there's less confusion in mistaking coffee creamer for sugar.
And so tomorrow I have to go into work an hour earlier than I did last Friday. That's the bad thing about Daylight Savings Time. All of this changing of the clocks messes with my mojo.
Which is why I need the chocolate Cherrios.
My biggest childhood fear, not including spiders or what might have been hiding under my bed at night, was my dentist. A week ahead of appointment time, I would start counting down the days with dread. It felt like being on death row, not that I know anything about being on death row, but how else can I explain about that sucking black hole in the pit of my stomach?
Every appointment time--every time I went--I was more nervous than I had ever been, ever. I'd brush my teeth to Kingdom Come on the day of, too, just in case it mattered. But as soon as I caught my first whiff of the office, my internal organs shrank and I felt like barfing or taking a crap right then and there. It's too bad I never fainted from this fear because I wanted to. Surely the evil people who worked in the office of Jaws would take the fears of an unconscious child on the floor more seriously than a bawling one.
I'd go stiff and whine as soon as my butt slid into the patient's chair, which I always thought looked like a beetle without legs. The light above my head was The Evil Eye. It never blinked. It saw every tear, every muscle twitch, every look of horror on my face. I used to pray to it.
Please, please, please get me out of here, amen.
Once Dr. Dawes said to me, "I haven't even done anything yet, there's nothing to cry about."
Only I thought he said, "You’re a rotten kid and I'm going to feed you to The Boogieman," because then I was really really crying and they had to get my little sister to come and sit with me. Crap, was I the biggest boob. I think it's hilarious now, but it sure wasn't back then.
I won’t even mention the cavities.
Okay, maybe I will. Just the sound of the drill was enough to make my pulse do the funky chicken. It was loud and unrelenting outside of my head, and when it was inside my mouth, there was the ow-ow-fricking-ow factor.
Leaving Dr. Dawes's office was always a huge relief. It meant I’d survived, that I’d live another day, and I really really liked that part.
And now I have to go and see a guy about my jaw. There's no way around it. I'm kind of afraid they're going to have to break my jaw and reset it.
Why does it always have to be my face?
For whatever reason, I had the thought while being driven home by taxi tonight that when palm trees are left to grow wild, they look like black Q-tips against a gray sky at night. Or morning. I don't see the tall palms in the city--West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, etc. Those trees are trimmed regularly and the trucks look pineapples. Sometimes old or dying fronds will fall and those suckers are heavy, but they are quickly taken away when my back is turned.
At o-dark thirty in the morning, I notice the taxis and the homeless more than anything else. The other traffic doesn't really register because there is always traffic. But the night, the dark early morning, is exposed and vulnerable.