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Get out of this place

I am falling apart.

Last night, while biting into some dinner, one of my molars cracked. I spit out mashed potatoes and a little piece of tooth.

Oh, it’s disgusting to be decomposing at my age! I ran to the bathroom to look at the tooth in the mirror, and I recoiled in HORROR! Exposed old filling and decay!

The truth is this particular tooth has been on deathwatch for a few years now. Before I moved to Paris, my American dentist informed me that the tooth would eventually need a crown, but that I needn’t worry about it just yet.

Let the worrying begin. I’ve made an appointment with a dentist, and Thursday he will peer into my mouth and see all sorts of yuckmouth terribleness. The crown is but the tip of the iceberg of problems—I haven’t had a checkup in 3 years, most of my fillings need replacing, the list in endless…

At least, I have insurance now. Thank god this didn’t happen while I was dental insurance-less in Los Angeles. That would have been more miserable.

The car is on its deathbed, too. We are both coming apart at the seams… like Beetlejuice, head and limbs and arms flying off! The car is parked in the lot at TA’s office, with a Do Not Resuscitate order on the dash. We’re renting a cheapie car while we figure out what to do. It’s a drag to have our hand forced into a purchase, but we’ve at least done research. Now it’s just a matter of finding the right price-to-mileage-to-year ratio.

I am boring myself. Physical ailments, car problems, house purchase, bird watching, office construction… could I be more of a suburban cliché?

I have got to get out of this place.

11:36 a.m. - 2004-09-21



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