I’m feeling a bit like the Abominable Snowman today. Some rage. Some frustration. I could probably stand to run a brush through my hair too. Though no worries…I don’t have any evil plan to take some innocent reindeers hostage. But after what feels like the fiftieth day in a row of some combination of snow, sleet and sub-freezing temps, I feel like I’m living on the North Pole. And I’m so over it.
Yes, I choose to live in New York, so I get it. It’s winter. In the northeast. The weather is supposed to suck. But the cabin fever is giving me delusions that I’m the Bumble from Rudolph. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that openly comparing myself to the monstrous yeti is probably a bad sign of my current state of mind (not to mention my self-esteem) these days.
And on top of the snow, I have a dentist appointment on Monday. The poor Bumble had to have his teeth yanked out (though it did make him much nicer in the long run). Back in junior high I had to have four teeth pulled before I got my braces put on. I don’t know if I was any nicer in the aftermath, but I do remember crying, my dad crushing some Bayer aspirin in sugar for me to take, and having the free pass to lay in my parents’ bed and watch American Anthem on HBO. Mitch Gaylord and Janet Jones in an epic movie set against the backdrop of gymnastics and a song by Duran Duran’s Andy Taylor. Movies from the 80s were sheer genius. But I digress…
And two decades later I still blame that particularly sadistic dentist for my complete fear of going for a routine cleaning appointment. He actually yelled at me when I started crying. Here’s a hint Dr. Demented: the mini shot of novocaine you jammed into my gums didn’t numb the pain of the gigantic wrench you used to twist four teeth out of a scared twelve-year-old’s mouth. And the yelling? You guessed it! That only made me cry more. Which in turn only made him yell more. Thanks for the memories!
And don’t even get me started on how the *smell* of the dentist sends my stomach into knots. But since I’m fresh out of my I-take-Xanax-to-quell-my-dental-anxiety prescription, I have to face the music without the pleasure of being comfortably numb. I’m sure this makes me sound like a complete baby, but in my opinion there are much lamer fears out there. Like the fear of flutes or string or knees. They’re all real. I Googled them. Maybe I’m being judgy. After all, I’m an adult writing about my fear of the dentist. I’m also not too jazzed about flying, but that’s far more common. I’m working on that one. And by “working on”, I mean that part of the reason I’m fresh out of Xanax is because I went to Europe in the fall. Cry me a river, right? Yeah, that trip was totally worth it.
But come Monday my dentist (who for the record is a very lovely, very understanding, very patient with a capital “P” man) is going to check on how my stress-induced, jaw-clenching, TMJ sitch is going. The pain was so bad back in November that I was convinced I’d either broken a filling (and there are plenty back there to choose from) or that I had a new cavity or I needed a root canal. I also debated the possibility that ten year’s ago my oral surgeon missed a phantom fifth wisdom tooth, which finally decided to make itself known.
I was knocked out for that procedure, so for all I know he stopped after the second tooth and spent the rest of my appointment playing poker with the anesthesiologist. But finding out I had a fifth wisdom tooth wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. These types of things happen. I had a friend in college who hooked up with a girl with seven toes, though til this day I’m not sure if it was seven on one foot for a total of twelve toes or three on the left and four on the right. He didn’t really volunteer the details. And while I’m certainly grateful for my total of ten toes (in a five and five symmetry) it doesn’t make me any less anxious about the dentist.
And just like it’s easier to put on those five pounds than it is to lose them, it’s far easier for me to sit here and be an anxious, bitchy little Bumble. But even he found a way to bounce back, since, well, Bumbles bounce! Literally. And that moment at the end of Rudolph when the Bumble puts the star on the tree always warms my little black heart. “Looky what he can do!” So I’m doing my damnedest to bounce back too.
First, I’m going to blast some Green Day and clean for a bit, which I fully enjoy doing. There’s something very satisfying about knocking something off my To Do list and I do have some slight control issues. One person’s chore is another person’s treasure.
And sure, the weather outside makes me want to do nothing other than crawl under my covers, turn on the TV and take a really long nap. And I’m thinking I’ll do that too. No one said bouncing back required actual physical activity. I’ll start with a little mental bouncing. It’s Saturday. Naps are totally playable. It’s been dark out since I woke up this morning. Oxygen is playing a Glee marathon. All signs point to giving in to the comfort of my bed.
So with that I’m going to bounce.
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