i have to go to the dentist in the morning. i can not tell you how much i hate the dentist. i hate the dentist so much that even if i did manage to come by A) a lottery win or B) a job with benefits, i would still drag my feet about going to have my teeth fixed (at last estimate, which was last summer, somewhere in the range of $3500 - obviously including nitrous because i just can't go into that office sober). but i broke another goddamn tooth on saturday night, and i decided i had to go. never mind that i've had a broken one on the other side for a year and have sort of avoided having it fixed ... let's not discuss that.
i hate going to the dentist and having the stupid hygenist girls, the assistants, the dental nurses as i can them, look at my rotten teeth and scold me about not taking care of them properly. it makes me want to sit up and spit out their little instruments and say you know, if all your teeth - baby teeth and adult teeth - had been ruined the way mine were, you wouldn't bother to floss every day either. it's kind of pointless when they rot and break anyway. that said, i'm not a cavewoman, i brush my teeth, and i resent the inference that my crappy teeth are only crappy because of something i did or didn't do. if these ditzy little girls who were born with normal teeth and only ever had to worry about braces (would that my big problem was crooked teeth!) wanted to go back twenty years and read about all the baby teeth that had to be pulled out and all the adult teeth that had to be taken out before they even came *in*, then they'd have some clue what i've gone thru. my favorite part is when they would ask if i knew that one of my molars was broken, and i would say, "no, that's not broken - it wasn't formed properly. it came in with only three prongs." (the odd part of that is that it was the tooth that broke last year, so when they fix it, it will have all four pieces, and i'll be trying to stick my tongue in a crevice that's been there for fifteen years and isn't there any more).
sadly, no amount of ranting and raving is going to change the fact that i have to go, and i have to go early. so i will go to bed, and wish that i had valium, and i will drag myself to the office in the morning and watch all their eyes light up as they realize the Potential Money Pit, the one whose parents probably paid for the expansion of their office, has returned, and i will try very, very hard not to vomit all over the waiting room. i'm not kidding. i am so desperately panicky and uneasy in a dentist's office that i'd pull my own teeth out if it would get me out of there. not sure if that came before i found myself doomed to languish in the chair for hours of my childhood, or as a result of such. interesting.