view from a floor

This weekend has been all about sustaining. I'm having post-operative issues with my dental work, leaving me in intense pain ALL THE TIME. I suggested to Alissa that it's G-d punishing me for getting a sweet studio apartment last week. She confirmed this is, in fact, how the good lord works.

It started getting bad Thursday afternoon so I made an appointment Monday morning with my rat bastard dentist, thinking it would be no big deal to wait. Friday morning my eyes started watering up on the train and I knew I was in trouble. When I called his office 8 times Friday, no one answered, which means he was on some made-up Jewish holiday (Pocono-shana?), or that they screen my calls.

So I've been toughing it out this weekend on ibuprofen, with oxycodone when I go to sleep. Last night I almost called one of these all-night clinics where you pay through the nose because you just can't take it anymore.

Now I have my eye on the prize, I'm less than 24 hours from possible relief, assuming my incompetent dentist with his oversized face and his de-jewified name (it used to be Seidemann) can do anything for me. I can handle this, right?

It's really bad though, I was just lying with my cheek pressed against the cold linoleum floor for a half hour. I also rinsed some gin around in my mouth because everyone keeps telling me "whiskey cures a toothache" and we're fresh out of bourbon. The gin may have done more damage than good; it was fresh from the freezer and cold things exacerbate the situation.