For the past ten years, I have endured pain stemming from a number of cavities. Year after year, the caries would grow bigger, creeping ever deeper into the center of my molars, sharp flashes of wince-inducing pain shooting ever more frequently throughout my nervous system. The damage accelerated in 2005 when I moved to Los Angeles and got caught up in the Hollywood bar scene, evaporating into anything-goes partying and the sure-I'll-do-those type of decision making. (“Hey let me just go home real quick and grab my toothbrush,” is not something one is prone to say before embaring on a week-long bender.) Since coming into some cash late in the last century, I kept telling myself: “You have to get your teeth fixed; you have to get your teeth fixed,” but rather than take care of my chompers, I chose to self-medicate and travel to Thailand for three weeks. Finally, though, last week, I bit the bullet (ha!) and placed a call to my local budget dentist, who within two days and for one quarter of the cost of my plane ticket to balmy Siam drilled out the rotten cores of my teeth, swabbed in some medication, filled the holes with durable epoxy, performed a thorough cleaning, and sent me on my way. Oh what joy to be able to chew once more! By refusing to take care of myself and my teeth, I was self-mutilating, and I shall not soon repeat these offenses. Aho.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
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