I’m sure other people go to the dentist twice a week and have a tooth pulled every month or so. No big deal. Because when I say I hate dentists, I get strange looks. And when I happen to mention I don’t enjoy having my teeth pulled out of my skull, they call me a wuss.

I guess it’s just another Friday for others then, when they wake up with they gum infected like a war mark from an uranium bombshell. Those painkillers for two days straight were totally unnecessary.
Who studies dentistry, anyway? What kind of sick, perverted fuck must it take to say to themselves, “I think I’ll start a career in gruesome mutilation today.”

It’s the most common thing in the world when you put yourself up on a chair that tilts you backwards, getting a light in your eyes (and mouth, yes) with power equivalent to a dying sun. I see nobody chewing metal on the street, but having your jaw stabbed with a steel hook is really nothing to make a fuss about, it’s only to check for cavities. My bad.

I can understand that two of my teeth need to go. They’re half gone already anyway and rotting away up to my eye socket. I get that. But in this day and age, with near-sentient robots on Mars and striped toothpaste, is it necessary to first shoot to much chemicals DIRECTLY IN MY FACE WITH A NEEDLE that my gum swells twice its size, followed by extraction of the tooth by tongs you might find in a carpenter’s workbox? I ask you, is it really?

If it is, I suppose I should be complaining about the two minutes it took –literally, counting the two lunch (HA HA) breaks we had in between. “I pull one of these every five years or so,” she mentioned over her shoulder, by which she meant a tooth with a root this freakishly huge. It looked somewhat like one of those mechanical claws you see at fairs, used to win you a teddy (or not) from a machine. Total size: about half the length of your pinky.

And get this. Tell me if it is “normal” then, if afterward, I can blow on my thumb and I can feel the air bubble through the hole (which now resembles the Vesuvius post-apeshit) into my sinuses. I am not kidding; that’s how big this tooth was. I am calling that demon again tomorrow and tell her this, knowing I will regret it when I’m under the knife of another hellspawn with a Latin name for a job.



So yeah. Accepting a nine-to-five job and going back to school immediately after is bound to have some repercussions for a nine-to-five job-hating, school-o-phobic like myself. Set aside the fact that, in principle, I passionately detest both, I haven’t bothered with either for half a decade.

Almost on the day six years ago, I quit the army and with it, any regularity to dictate my actions. Ever since, I’ve lived day to day and grew accustomed to it almost instantly. So now that I only work for what feels like half shifts, I’m stuck at home wondering what to do with my evening- Hell I’m not used to coming home before two in the morning. I’m also not used to working five consecutive days a week, what a drag that’s turning out to be. I always got a sour taste in my mouth when I heard the phrase “Thank God it’s Friday”, and now I’m counting the days to the next weekend. Blah.

But! The pay’s good. I make the same as my bosses, and if you divide that by the amount of time they work a day, I actually make more per hour. That’s hilarious.
All this will change soon, when I’m sent, quite literally, back to the drawing board. I quickly did the math and it turns out I get little more than €700 per month unemployment income (when subscribed, which I rarely am). While this is more than the average I make when working (oh the irony), it might be a little tricky getting used to that- and the fact that I don’t have anything to fall back on. If the school required any large expenses, I’ll be pretty fucked for months to come.




At this moment, my body is fighting a drug that cost me about €5, and I am taking three times a day. And it’s one tough fight, I can tell you.

A couple years ago, I chipped a tooth on my breakfast. Chipped perhaps isn’t the right word- It literally broke in half. What is left is hollow, and has its nerve in the open. A year later, the exact same thing happened on the other side. I’m not sure what caused it exactly, it might have been my wisdom teeth putting too much pressure or simply a flaw in their shape. I didn’t really care. As long as I didn’t bite down on anything hard with them, they gave me no trouble.

Until recently, that is. One morning I woke up, with an annoying pain in my jaw. I thought it would just disappear over time as random pains tend to, but it got worse until, around noon, I started asking around for painkillers. After no less than eleven years, I made an appointment with a dentist again and spent the next two-three days on heavy painkillers. The pain subsided after that, but instead the bastard started to infect. The dentist prescribed me an antibiotic to take away the swelling before pulling the tooth in question, because you can’t anaesthetize an infection. Those pills kept me in a semi-state of life for the next couple of days, making work an utter hell.

I then proceeded to miss my appointment, after which the swelling returned with a vengeance. After twenty-four hours, I began to look like Quasimodo with a tumor, deformed in the face with a swollen, hard, sore jaw. Again, I was told to take pills, and although they took their time, they seem to work. I will spare you the details but trust me, infections are nasty as hell. They leave an open wound when they go away, completing the pretty disgusting state you’re in for about a week or so.

I hate doctors. I hate medication. I hate dentists. If I could have it my way, they can knock out all my teeth and screw fakes in there (perhaps with some decorative finish). There, end of fucking misery. Painlessly, please.

So next Wednesday, when my face looks somewhat symmetrical again, I’m going back there to have the bugger pulled. “The rest looks pretty much in order,” I was told, but considering the average dental hygiene of my stage-building colleagues (not pointing any fingers), I’m not sure what’s the reference there. My sugar addiction probably left my bone structure looking like Swiss cheese. I’m trying to cut back, but fuck man, they put it in everything. Sugar in our breakfast, sugar in our lunch, sugar for dinner. From coke to orange juice, you’ll have to turn to water if you want to find something unsweetened. And never drinking anything carbonated or alcoholic, I can safely say I have water coming out my fucking ears.

It’s society’s fault, I tell you!


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