Thoughts from someplace else entirely

The world seems to have come to a standstill.

No news of anything for some reason, no daily routine, no new projects. My brain is on hold and I can only assume having Muzak piped in. No insight into anything. Just a steady stream of intense pain.

I've never had a toothache before. It started Friday. I chalked it up to stress — the tired feeling after a long journey, the difficulty of quieting Helena at night, the attempt to be social with my brother (who insisted we watch Kill Bill even though I've seen it, he's seen it a number of times, and my mother would live a happier life never having seen it — only my sister had any interest, but that waned when she realized the constant and meaningless running commentary ("Oh, watch this carefully. This is classic!") it would involve).

Saturday's pain was gawdawful. Sunday was better. Monday we headed to Toronto. On arrival, I headed to an emergency dental clinic.

Turns out the nerve is inflamed and in the process of dying. The nerve of that nerve! But poor nerve, really. No means of releasing its anguish. Trapped in its enamel casing, banging on the walls with all its might. Well, I hear you, nerve. We're gonna scrape you outta there. You'll be dead by then, but free.

The staff at the clinic were extremely sympathetic, and not only was the dentist cute cute charming cute, he laughed at all my jokes: "So it's not just commiserating with my baby girl with sympathetic teething pain." "Yes, that's the tooth... Yes... Mmm, ya, I'm 100% sure... Yes... No, wait a minute — could you please hit all my teeth with that blunt instrument again? It might not be the one that makes me scream after all." "Was lovely to meet you. Hope I never see you again."

I'll be easing my way from (mind-numbingly achingly throbbing) vacation to real life with a root canal in a few days.

My cousin thinks I need more drugs. I tend to agree. I hesitate, though, because it's me who's primarily responsible for Helena. The pain is lessened, I find, when I'm distracted (hence this post), but it's difficult to find suitable distraction while in a foreign space — I've been dissuaded from scrubbing the kitchen floor and I'd be thought rude to just pick up and go hang out at the bookstore (assuming I could find one).

At least Helena is able to spend some quality time with her extended family. She continues to charm the pants off everybody.

I'm reading Douglas Adams' The Salmon of Doubt when I have free moments, and when the pain lets up enough to not consume every fibre of my being, allowing just a small bit of my brain to run carefree and wild.