Wow, the last time I saved a draft on WordPress was 7/13/09. What can I say now?
Well, I just wanted to see if I could write again, dust off the old shoes and see where it goes. If it’s good, then we’re gold. If it’s gold, then we’re good. If it ain’t, then we won’t. Simple as that.
I really want to write another Harold Potter story. Harold Potter and the Floating Rug was not the end, that was just a bad joke. I’ve been working on and off on one that I really feel can be my strongest piece yet, so you can look out for that.
One of these days, I’m going to do more Dickheads songs. JJJJeah!
Reading my old poetry it seems to be very creative but has no meaning or has a lost meaning. It’s really some stuff that I can’t be completely proud of because I don’t know what exactly is going on. It sounds kinda cool, but I really think I should have higher standards than just “it sounds cool.” While I am not exactly an expert on poetry, I still know what I like and my poetry I do not like.
As a matter of fact, most of my old writing I don’t like. Most of the Harold Potter stuff was pretty bad. One that I really did like was the Haggard story about The Lion, The Witch and The War Robe. Does anyone remember any of this?
Alright, enough about stuff for the future, I’ll just write a short thing on my trip to the dentist.
He’s the same man that treated me since I was a boy. That man that looked inside those calcified structures in my mouth. I think of them as “the rocks in my mouth” that I don’t care enough about, but they will last when the rest of me whithers away. I am grateful for what the doc did for me, he straightened my teeth with braces when I needed them to be straightened. He takes care of my health which is probably more than I have done in a while… But at the same time there’s this professional distance he maintained on my visit to him on the 23rd of June of the Year 2010 A.D.
It was a quiet wait in that old waiting room in that same building that I’ve seen since I was about 5 or so, making the temporal distance approximately 14 years. Dad filled out the forms to ensure the dentist would be paid and that I would be treated. That old waiting room… There’s that fish tank that used to have fish, all it had this time were bubbles that made sounds drowned out by drilling and whirring noises. There were those old posters for exhibits at the Museum of Modern Art, one for Joan Miro October 17, 1993 through January 11, 1994 and one for the Kadinsky Compositions running from January 26 through April 25, 1995. There were some people waiting and a stack of magazines.
I played Professor Layton and The Curious Village while I waited for him to finish up his treatment of his previous clients. Are they clients or patients?
Eventually we realized that it would be 30 minutes before we would be treated. We’d expected to be treated sooner, both my dad and I wanted to see him. Well we didn’t want to see him as much as we wanted him to see us… or rather not see us but treat us. Anyway, we walked out of the office into the local mall while drinking a 99 cent medium iced tea from Dunkin Donuts. My dad has built a bit of a part time occupation buying and selling games from video game stores so we spent our time looking for sealed copies of a particular game that day.
We got back and it was soon my turn to go. The doc was a quiet worker that exercised his craft without any particular attachment. He gave simple orders, he performed his actions as required. He drilled and scraped against those rocks in my mouth. The intense sound coupled with the splashing and dripping of drool on my face and on my chin made for an experience that I would rather not have often. My jaw felt numb from keeping it open. I stared into the light above and the reflection of my mouth in the doc’s glasses. There was a poster of Mickey and Minnie Mouse dressed in contemporary clothing (t-shirt and jeans) and a GE television set w/ a VCR that looked like it hadn’t played anything in a while. I spat up blood and rinsed my mouth a couple of times. All said and done, I had my retainer for my bottom row of teeth removed.
I looked in the mirror with the width of three of myself and the height of one and a half of me. I looked at my teeth. Cleaned. White… relatively. It would be dad’s turn. He wanted me to look after the car. I didn’t know where to find it. I smiled sheepishly as his frown and anger came through.
“You don’t know where’s the car?”
I found it and added coins to it. Eventually I found myself waiting for dad in a McDonald’s as I ate a Ranch Snack Wrap I bought for $1.49. I could have bought a McDouble for $1, but why feed that to myself? It wasn’t worth the cost of my health. I’ve been trying to think like that more lately.
It was an unmemorable experience although I can’t help but feel that there’s something about it all that made me not want to forget it. Does it matter if we remember what happens to us? Will remembering that place matter in the future if I never see it again? It’s not like I should cherish these memories for any reason. But they are what happened to me and they are a part of who I am. I guess, memories are all I will have in the end.
