I like the woman who cleans my teeth. She grew up about forty miles from where I grew up. She never lectures me, although I suspect that I am an endless temptation to lecture. I believe her husband is a seminarian attending our local fundamentalist Baptist seminary. I have never asked her views on tyrannosaurus rex. She never minds that I want to play my mp3 player during the procedure. She always asks when it is over if I want mint or cinnamon toothpaste.
When I arrived late on Wednesday morning, I felt very apologetic. I offered to pay for the session and then reschedule, so as not to rush her. She graciously determined she had time to fit me in. She worked on my teeth with a careful intensity that was much faster than usual. I suspect that the task proved harder than the usual time, not only for reasons of schedule-afflicted exigency but also because she wished to ensure that all plaque vanished. I felt no real discomfort during the procedure. I love the way that my mp3 player shuffles up such great songs--and a free half an hour to listen with the gentle, finger-cymbal like accompaniment of dental instrument percussion on the great conga row of my dental work. I was at work in good order, soon thereafter.
In the two days since the procedure, however, I experience the discomfort of the righteously cleansed. This proves very inconvenient, as my work keeps me very occupied right now. I resort to things that I never do, on principle--taking an Advil from time to time, for example. I prefer to be the strong, mildly chatty type. I will give it a day or two to see if the pain subsides, as it has done before. I vaguely know that sometimes an infection can arise and require attention, which I will provide for if required. In the meantime,though, I experience this deep, soul-felt throb in my lower left jaw. It's the throb of the righteous, clean-teethed, but running late.
Tomorrow I plan to take my young friend bowling in Frisco. I love to bowl, though my skills rate only average.
Nowadays things are automatic. I used to love knowing how to manually keep score, as if it were a lost, arcane art. I tend to be proud of skills others take for granted.
The news fascinates me this week. We live in odd times.