Bells Palsy

So my weekend kicked off with two rather sad occurances.

I had to bid a final For Reals farewell to mah Park, which involved incredible amounts of denial on both our parts and a resolution to meet each other in argentina for some rose eating and spontaneous combustion, and also a trip to the dentist.



I found, as I tottered out of the dentist forty five minutes after arriving there, that there are few things more destabilising than hosting two strangers' hands in your mouth for almost an hour. Particularly when they are weilding small things with hooks and strange vacuuming things that suck on the inside of your cheek. Particularly when they leave you with the feeling that you have four new teeth in your mouth and none of them like you.



There is nothing about a trip to a dentist that has not been covered before by science fiction writers and directors but that doesn't make any of it less true. Going to the dentist is fucking wrongtown, people. Damn.