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Okay, let's just get the worst of this over with and then I'll feel better. I think.



I have an abcessed tooth and need a root canal-- whoopee! Does it get any more fun than that? Holy shit, the doc had damn well better use nitrous; I get anxious and need that for even a minor filling. And it's in a tooth that's been capped; I don't know if that'll make any difference to the drilling or not. I couldn't get an appointment with the endodontist till Monday, so I hope it doesn't get painfully worse in the meanwhile. The dentist today did give me antibiotics and vicodin. I don't particularly LIKE vicodin, so I hope I don't have to take it. It doesn't make me happy and drifty like it seems to me a good painkiller should; it just makes me queasy and knocks me out flat. Hell, I'd be happy as hell if it just made me not hurt so I could go about my business. Right now I don't need anything so we'll all jsut cross our fingers, shall we? I'm sure that'll make all the difference. Clap for Tinkerbelle while you're at it.

The thing about the tooth that makes me most upset is that I feel like the dentist should have caught this a long time ago. He even looked at my records today and mentioned notes from seven months ago about sensitivity. I had the same thing happen years ago and kind of worried about it this time, but thought... hell, I don't know what I thought. I guess that it would hurt before it got really bad. Or that the dentist would think to do an X-ray and check when I mentioned sensitivity over a long period of time. Or something.

In other news of joy and delight, someone hit my car in a parking lot somewhere and didn't leave any info. There's a dent and scratches on the rear door and quarter panel. I discovered that on the same day my phone quit working (it lost all its memory, including who it was, so I could neither place nor recieve calls.) My palmtop had already gone blank, so I was dead in the water. Hell, half my friends I know so firmly by their SCA names that it's hard to recall even mundane first names, never mind last names and phone numbers.

And last week I could really have used some mundane contact. No kitties to snuggle up to me in bed or purr on my shoulder or lap. No one to call and say "Let's do dinner." Man, it was nasty. it was so nasty, in fact, that I was seriously considering buying a laptop with wireless just so I could find a hot spot and communicate with people. Since that could only have been accomplished by putting the whole thing on my credit card, which is now going to have to cover a $1,000 dental bill, it's a good thing I didn't.


The best news of the week is that Aunt Susan made it through heart surgery on Tuesday and hip surgery two or three days later. On Monday they got her out of bed for a couple of hours and I brushed her hair and put it up for her. On Tuesday she didn't do so well. Her heart started beating irregularly and her kidneys weren't doing so well. It seemed to me she lost most of the gains she'd made. I stopped in to see her yesterday before I hit the highway and they said she was doing about the same. The PTs are coming in and working with her every morning, and they moved her to a chair before I left. She's not much interested in eating and isn't able to eat much when she does try.

I've decided that staying with my parents and trying to take them places is like herding dust bunnies. They're little and wispy and vague and go drifting off at random. It's hard as hell to get them corralled and going in the same direction. Just when you get one cornered and ready to scoop up, the other one vanishes. And they're my parents, for god's sake, so I can't fuss at them like I would at kids. Daddy is particularly bad for remembering something he needs to do at the last minute.


I was there for a week and it drove me nuts. It may have been worse because I knew we needed to see Aunt Susan at the hospital and felt like we should get over there as soon as we could every day, while the 'rents wanted to wait and go after lunch. That was probably just as well, since they are in their mid-80's and the visits were admittedly tiring. Hell, I'm more than 25 years younger than them and I was fried at the end of the day. When I just go up to visit, with no agenda, I'm more relaxed and don't feel like I should hurry them along. That is probably tiring me, as well.

I cooked a simple meal for Mother and Daddy one day while I was there and you would have thought I had done something incredibly difficult. Mother apparently thought I would just cook some chicken and call it a meal, because she (without consulting me on the menu) hauled out bread and green beans and started cooking them, which gave us two green veggies and two starches to go with the meat. They eat like little mice or birds or something, and I had planned portions accordingly. Oh, well, it'll all reheat well.


I took a bunch of books to read while I was there and finished most all of them. I had trouble with the ones that were set in alternate realities; hell, I was having enough trouble hanging on to my own. I think that at another time I will like Pattern Recognition by William Gibson, but last week it was beyond my comprehension. I did better with straightforward mysteries that didn't require any deep thought at all. Most of the mysteries in Mother's collection go too far that way and border on fluffy (if they don't dive into it head first), but I wound up reading several when my stash ran out. Yeesh.

I took several books on tape for the drive up and back. I started a mystery by an author I have liked in print but didn't like at all on tape. She kept going off on digressions and I wanted to yell "Get on with it!" I finally decided it wasn't going to get better, so I switched to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon. Mostly I loved it. It was written in the first person and the writer is supposed to be slightly autistic. From what little I know about it, I think the author did a fantastic job of conveying that reality. Occasionally it got on my nerves; I felt kind of guilty when I got annoyed with the repetition. I'd still call it a Good Read. On the way back, I put on Practical Magic. I'm actually not finished with it yet. It started out sllllloooooowwwwwwwly, but I was still enjoying it enough that I kept listening. It was just pleasant. I didn't really think anything was going to happen, particularly. On disc 6 of 8, she whipped out the hook that got me on the edge of the seat, and made me really glad I'd hung on. I'm not sure why it took quite that long, but hey. It was a long drive. Depending on how it comes out, I think I'll designate it a Good Read. So far I've been able to accept her convention of Love At First Sight, though I think in reality there's no such thing. Hell, the book is about magic, though, so I'll let her get away with it.

I think what has put me off fiction for so long is fear of preachiness. It has taken some sort of trick to suck me in, at least so far, but once I'm hooked with good writing, they can tell me whatever they are trying to about the human condition. I still don't quite have the nerve to start a fiction book with no gimmicks-- no mystery, no magic, no time travel. Maybe if I keep at it...

Well, as hoped, writing has proved therapeutic and I feel somewhat better. I did get my phone fixed this morning, though all the numbers stored were lost. I feel like I'm back in the world again, though, so that's good.

Date: 2005-11-03 09:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] harleenquinzell.livejournal.com

Want dinner tonight? I don't have my phone with me at work or I'd call.

:)

Date: 2005-11-04 02:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] anonamys.livejournal.com
You know, next time someone tries to prescribe you Vicodin, tell them you want something else. If it makes you feel bad, then another drug is in order. (and not liking vicodin runs in the family.)

Date: 2005-11-04 03:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] luciab.livejournal.com
I told him I don't like it, but it seemed to be the strongest thing he was willing to give me and he acted like he thought I'd need it. I figure if it's that bad, knocking myself out may not be the worst thing I can do. I think since he's a dentist and not used to prescribing this stuff, he doesn't stay up with the options. It's the same dentist you used to see and I've always really liked him but today I'm having second thoughts.

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Susan Arthur

February 2011

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