Monday, March 13, 2006

Can't Catch a Break...

...except, of course, in the most abysmally literal sense.

The parade of disasters continues. My job I once loved now sucks, I hate it and I'm doing it badly and everyone notices that I am doing it badly, which bruises my ego and makes me hate the job even more. My window and rear-view mirror are still busted, I haven't had time to get them fixed yet; so I'm still driving around with duct-tape and plastic-wrap holding the driver's-side together, and it's freezing out and raining cats and dogs every day. I'm not sleeping at all well, I'm tired in the mornings and I toss and turn at night, my muscles are knotted up and my brain is numb... and my depression is going into overdrive as a result. There is family drama of various kinds that I shall not discuss here, but suffice it to say that I am deeply angry and extremely worried and very uneasy.

And then, today, while swimming placidly in this stew of unpleasantness, I broke a tooth. I was popping a piece of candy in my mouth while stuffing some envelopes... not even hard candy, it was a chocolate-covered coconut-cream... and I bit down wrong somehow and chipped the edge off of my bottom left canine and knocked the adjacent second-incisor out of whack. Now I cannot bite down at all without causing myself immense pain, and the jagged canine is lacerating my tongue, and I'm fucking starving and I can't fucking eat anything except fucking pudding and soup and smoothies, which aren't even remotely satisfying.

I made an emergency appointment with my dentist, and in dentistry an emergency means within a week. My appointment is for Wednesday afternoon, I have to miss half a day of work aside from having to live with a a broken tooth and half-knocked out tooth for three days, wincing every time I close my mouth and living on protien shakes and oatmeal. And I don't even want to think about how much this dental work is going to cost. I just don't have room in my brain for the enormity of it all.

Fuckety-fuck-fuck, shit-damn-hell.

On the bright side (there has to be a bright side, or I'd kill myself), somebody found my stolen book-bag and sent me a letter to arrange its return. He even took everything out and dried it, since it had all been rained on. He also had pleasant handwriting and good grammar and attractive stationery. It restored my faith in humanity.

But of course, I had to steel myself up to telephoning a stranger (which regular readers will remember I have a bad phobia about), and though I did manage to call this stranger up, I only got his answering machine. He hasn't called back yet, he probably went away for the weekend or something equally difficult, and I'm no closer to having my bag.

Another bright-side moment is that I found the cutest hat, it's a sort of soft snap-brim fedora, made of some kind of straw-like material, black and tan with white stitching. I won't go so far as to say I look good in that hat, but I look a hell of a lot better than I usually do in hats. It lends me a certain legitimacy and style. With the hat and a nice scarf (of which I now have several, after stumbling into a clearance sale while wandering around the mall after church last week) and some gloves, I'm ready for any weather! Or at least any weather that's likely to occur in the Bay Area.

Tune in next week for the continuing drama. Even if things don't start looking up, I can at least give you the satisfaction that your life isn't so bad, after all.

(My hat looks a little like this, except not so structured, of a different material, a different color, and with a fat ugly argyle-clad queen pouring out the bottom of it instead of a chiseled shirtless hottie.)

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