stoned

Once again I lay in the dentist's chair this morning, mouth uncomfortably held open, lips and cheek stuffed with cotton.  I was wearing comfy jeans and a hooded sweatshirt with writing on it... I don't know what that writing says.  What matters isn't the writing, it's the comfort.

I put on my sunglasses, placed my headphones into my ears, turned on the music as loud as I could and closed my eyes as the doctor placed a mask over my nose and pumped laughing gas into it.

To keep panic from setting in.  To stop my fidgeting.  To prevent me from making his job more difficult than it has to be.

I am not an easy dental patient.

As I lay there listening to the jagged tone of Tom Waits voice I floated in and out of awareness.  I raised my hand to ask the doctor to back off on the laughing gas.  I wanted to be calm, at ease... but I still wanted my wits about me.  I wanted to be able to think if for some reason thinking might become necessary.

And I did think, the thoughts came in waves crashing over the haze and as each individual idea came to me I pulled it aside and considered it.  Many times in the swirling mist of thoughts I said to myself,

...

Now if only I had written those things down....