Days With My Dentist

Mood: oks lang.
Now Playing: valkyrie missile, angels and airwaves

DAY 1: "You Need Surgery!" and other painful words.

I've always been proud of my teeth. Well not by it's whiteness or shit, but by it's structure; some dentist long ago once told me that i had one of the best looking set of teeth there is - evenly spaced, with no breaks or shiznit in between. As a kid, that was one of the best compliments i've ever heard in my life (though admittedly, i was still a kid and i cried a lot back then, so she may have been just saying that to make me feel better, but what the hell ). Life would have been so perfect and great if things remained like that forever and ever, but nooo. It just had to change; i grew up, discovered junk food, discoverd street food, and realized how much amazing food there is in the world, and bang! before i knew it, i had this throbbing pain - like gnawing at blocks of ice for a long long while - in my gums.

And so with much nagging and nagging - and did i mention nagging - from my dear mother, i went to this dentist. She looked pretty kind, and smiled a lot, which showed her set of white, even teeth - though i guess that comes with the job description. She motioned for me to sit down on the dentist's chair, y'know, the one with those weird drills and suction and water spraying devices.

"So let's see what we have today, Daryl. *smile* Open your mouth, " she says. I do as she says, expecting her to say "ah yan, tinga lang yan. here, have some floss and candy" But nope. Suddenly, she exclaims "Hala ayan! Ang laki na ng sira ng third molar mo! kelangan ng bunutin to! *taps the mtherlkajdlsckin tooth* ayan Daryl o, impacted na ung tooth mo, o.. naku, kelangan ng bunutin yan *smiles*"

If my molar had a face, i would have punched it out of the galaxy.

So she informs me that basically, my teeth are too cramped, and this one molar is disturbing the others, because as it turns out, it's root is digging into the other teeth's roots. And then she launched into this litany on how i should take care of my teeth, how i should floss every meal and floss, floss, floss. And basically, i have to get my third molar out of there before it digs in anymore and hurt my other teeth.

Then she sat me down on the chair again - in my agitation i had stood up, panicking - and proceeded to explain that i needed ten tooth fillings or else i will shrivel up and die. Kidding, who shrivels up and dies nowadays? But yeah, i needed the ten teeth fillings badly. But, since all the moolah i had on me that day could only afford one, i went home with single tooth filling and a promise to come back later that week.

DAY 2: That Other Day

So after two days, i went to see the dentist again, this time to fill in the 9 remaining fillings i needed to have. Placing in a single filling already hurt so bad. Placing in 9 fillings all at once was pure hell. The third molar throbbed like crazy and she kept on filling the spaces NEAR the third molar itself, thereby adding MORE pain. The drill was whirring like crazy and there i was, my mouth open for like 2 hours, while she poked in and out of my teeth. I could have sworn i heard a giggle somewhere in between those two hours, but what the hell.

To amuse myself, i let my mind wander across the room. She had put on this cd earlier on, and i smiled at that; at least she tried to make me feel better. I closed my eyes ( my mouth was still open ) and tried to focus on the music alone, not the sound the drill was making. I steadied myself and tried my best to drown myself in the sound of... waves crashing(?!). Huh? Okay, sure, whatever.

Half an hour with my mouth open and with nature-sounding sounds in the background isn't a good idea. By the time she was finished, two hours of my youth was spent, and so was my tolerance for pain.

DAY 3: "Not A Bleeder!"

Day 3 found me rnging the bell to this dental surgeon my dentist recommended. Like what i've
been doing the past 3 days, i sat down on the dental chair and opened my mouth real wide. The dental surgeon was a big burly guy with a set of the roundest eyes i've ever seen. He smiled when i entered the room and gestured for me to sit down on the operating chair.

"So, Daryl" he began "Did Dr. _____ explain the procedure to you? We're going to have to cut through here (traces my cheek downwards with his finger) and then we'll probably have to break your molar to ge it out. As you know, your third molar is adding pressure on your other teeth's roots, so we have to get it out right away. I can also surmise that the other third molar - that is, the one on your right - is not a bit far off, and should also need removal. I urge you to do it ASAP. Do you have any questions?"

I looked at the equipment, a big screwdriver thingy, a drill, suction, and a set of surgical knives.

"Just one, Doc. Will there be pain?"

He smiled at that and reaches inside the drawers beside him. He takes out this little needle, and flicks the tip.

"No, Daryl. At least not in the way you expect it to be."

Damn, this guy is doing a terrific job of terrifying me, i remember thinking. But all things asdie, he is a pretty good surgeon, anyway. He puts on this CD and i almost laughed out loud. Vivaldi? On a dentist trip? Who would've thought.

He made me relax on the chair and open my mouth. He brings the needle in closer and baam~ sticks my gums with it. Dizzy and disoriented by the sudden movement, i closed my eyes. Wrong move.

He sticks in another needle, and this time, i felt numbness. Like someone stopped the flow of your blood. The surgeon smiled, and then proceeded to do his work. A few minutes later, i heard him exclaim, "Wow, Daryl. You're not a bleeder!"

I wish i could've talked to him right then and there, on lots of things. One of them does not concern dentistry.

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So, here i am, typing away, with a throbbing 5 stitches to my left gums and a freaking headache to boot. I have no idea how i got the headache, and i guess i;m better off leaving it that way; clueless. After all, there are times when the saying "what you don't know won't hurt you" comes true anyways.

Taking Notes

Mood: busy
Now Playing: Kelsey, Metro Station

I've been hitting into a lot of things these past few days, and it keeps getting worse that im actually wondering if i should do something about it, like wear armor around the house for instance. It's getting to the point that if there is a piece of furniture nicely tucked out of the way, i will sure as hell find a way to fling myself on it, be it with the use of slippery floor, a sudden emergence of a banana peel or - my gahd, i do not understand how i could've done this - tripping on my own two feet. It's frustrating, believe me.

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Maybe this was how things were meant to be. We can't win against fate if, from the get-go, we were never meant to be the winners, never meant to be the ones that get first prize, or second, or third. Fact is, we're just little bits of people that look up to the sky and stars and hope that one day we'll be just like that - shining so damn beautifully in space. We can't win the race. It's impossible. We can't be all heroes. We all can't have a vorpal sword that goes snicker snack in face of adversity. We can't shed off our identity and adopt our own Jerome Morrow. We can't save our faujkdcking princess from beasts and nightspawns. Why? Because there will always be someone, or in the worst of cases, something that would always side with Fate and the natural order of things and prevent us from going at it. It could be religion. Values. Country. Your own imperfections. The list is many and endless. Bottome line is: there are people that can't win this faudwsdcking race, and im sad to say that a lot of people are in this category. It's just the freaking way things go.

im just typing this in to say that i'm done. Im quitting this damn race for superiority, for love, for passion. Im done, gentlemn. Im through with being clawed upon at the throat, just for a chance at the stars. Im through slaying jabberwockies just for sake of exp points, had enough of being Jerome Morrow, grown sick of saving bitching sissies who just don't know the concept of the word gratitude. Im quitting this godawful race whilst i still have my limbs and sanity left. Don't get me wrong, i'm still shooting for the stars, yeah, that's one thing im still certain of. But the thing is, i can't fucking run to the finish line anymore, espescially with the ferocious line of awful things that have me in their crosshairs. I'll get there, undoubtedly. So you'll excuse me for bowing out of your race that you're so damn bent on winning. Cheers and goodluck with that, mate.

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Recently, i've read Teves' last book, The Wedding, and a line there caught my attention. Basically, he says that we can't remember pain. To borrow his words, "we only remember the fact that something causes pain - fire burns, knives cut - but we're incapable of remembering the pain itself." (Teves, 2010)

There are nights when i beg to differ, and nights where i nod in agreement. How about during the daytime? Of course, i sleep.

consolation, II

Mood:pretty much okay.
Now Playing: kids in glass houses, raise hell

So it's 2:30 in the morning, and i can't sleep. I know i WANT to, and i sure as hell know that i NEED to, but my body just won't follow. Now this is remarkable in itself, as i have been amaazingly depriving myself of sleep this past few days, but still... and the thing is, i don't know if i can still pull this off; writing these posts that must always have a little room for hiding things in. Maybe it's just me, yeah sure. But the thing about staying up late at this time of the.. the morning, without a plan or a decision,even is just plain stupid.

Anyway, i'll be going to my highschool in a few hours time, and gahd im nervous as hell. Im supposed to be just picking up some things and my yearbook... but this just feels weird, y'know. Like im not supposed to be there anymore. Like the present batch has overtaken the school and overwritten my memories of the school in it. Like if i touch something, i'll have destroyed something which they have fought and loved for, and i'd hate to do that. I might get fragged by saying this, but I guess what im saying is that im betting it'll feel weird; to be at the school but at the same time, to not be. Your memories are still there, of course. But you can't erase the fact that this generation will undoubtedly have carved their own memories into stone pillar after every stone pillar, and im guessing it'll feel awkward. that's all.

And another thing; it's like this yearbook is what binds me to this school, y'know. Y'see, it's like my one-way ticket to see my school again, to have a legit excuse to peek in here and out. And, as with usual one way tickets go, i hate to throw my tickets away without having a spare one in my pocket. It's childish, i know. And plenty pitiful, i understand that. But know that i can't do things without an assurance of something - something that will lead me to believe that what im doing is worth the risk, is worth fighting for. In this case, if i give away my one way ticket.. all i want to ask is, is it really worth getting that freaking yearbook?

I know it's completely unsupported by facts and reason, and a lot of things here will confuse even the brightest of my friends or the shiniest of the stars, but hey. That's what emotions are for, aren't they? To give meaning to which we cannot attribute logic or reason.

I seem to be an emotional person, then.

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So, it's 2:16 in the afternoon, quite a few hours between the 1st paragraphs up there and the time of writing. Im just lucky i saved this post as a draft, so it looks like i have a chance to add some shit in here.

Aaanyway, about the part about disturbing the shit and all that, i was right; it did felt really awkward to be there. We chanced upon classroom upon classroom and boom, my 4th yr classroom was turned into a freaking spanish lab or something. I mean, what the hell, spanish lab. It's practically great, it's amazing, it's cool that the school's finally getting some real props, but.. aun. it doesn't change the fact that what was the epic shit for me is just another classroom to them. i dunno. it's getting too dramatic for words, and im not in much of a writing mood today.. but. aun. i know nothing.

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went to a bookstore today, and half an hour later, finished reading vince teves' third and final book, The Wedding. It's just one of those summit books that you can get at 150, but gahd. The words hit home, the story hits home, and you could actually taste the emotions in it. Im not freaking kidding. It makes sense.

Probably the only thing that makes sense to me nowadays.