I am seeing teeth everywhere.
First, in a dream last week where two double strings of teeth were just flowing from my mouth, with loose teeth falling into my hands. Then, last night in another dream, with a psychic medical diagnostician “scanned” my body to find health concerns and prodded me to go to the dentist. (I was also told to visit a chiropractor, but that’s another deal altogether!) Then, in real life, I just keep unwittingly thinking about teeth – ugh, talk about waking nightmares! But the penny finally dropped when a blog that I regularly visit hosted in its daily picture section an openly smiling mouth, with shiny white teeth.
You’d think the Universe has more important things to tell me, but ok: I have to go see the Dentist.
Dental phobia is not unique to me at all – hell no! In fact, it is so pervasive in society that the Almighty Wikipedia even has an entry dedicated to it. Aha! And mightier still, the DSM-IV (the Psychiatric Bible) lists the certain associated phobias:
- “a marked and persistent fear of the specific object or situation that is excessive or unreasonable,
- an immediate anxiety response upon exposure to the feared stimulus, which may take the form of a panic attack,
- recognition that the fear is excessive or unreasonable,
- avoidance of the anxiety-producing situation,
- the phobia interferes with normal functioning or causes marked distress. “
Check, check, check, check, check. Go, DSM-IV, go! :)
So, as you might surmise, I dislike the dentist trips very much. And let’s face it, who doesn’t? But whenever anyone mentions the word “dentist” to me, they may as well be saying “Satan”, even though my dentist is probably as nice and laid back and reassuring and most importantly, as competent as they come. This word has many grown adults just quaking with irrational fear, absolutely refusing to go.
The last time I went (and I won’t stipulate the ‘when’ for fear of blogger condemnation) I got to watch Oprah who soothed me through the trauma :) My boyfriend’s colleague has an aaawesome dentist who has a special pair of techy goggles that is somehow connected to a DVD to customise your dental experience: you get to watch your chosen movie. They even note down where you left off on your last visit, and pick it up from there. Talk about service! But personally, I would stay away from comedies because I find it hard to laugh when there is an entire hand shoved down my throat. But what a seriously clever way of distracting your clients from planning the details of your ‘accidental’ death. It’s genius!
Even thinking about the looming dentist trip makes me cringe. It’s the thought of being at the merciless control of the Evil dentist; receiving the obligatory lectures on dental care and maintenance, nodding and yepping at them and trying your saintily best to avoid rolling your eyes; hearing the dentist speak in code to his assistants whilst just sitting there freaked out of your mind, thinking “um, hello?“; that sharp pitchy sound and vibration of the frightening drill; that nerve-shaking pain that you swear you can feel in your toes. And perhaps most insulting of all, is that three digit price-tag which is often accompanied by a swift kick to one’s own arse. Of course, this moment is joined by the proud victory of having conquered a trip down to Hell and back.
But the sweetest knowledge of all, is that the next trip won’t be a while yet :) Oh God, I look forward to that.
Said one oyster to a neighboring oyster, “I have a very great pain within me. It is heavy and round and I am in distress.”
And the other oyster replied with haughty complacence, “Praise be to the heavens and to the sea, I have no pain within me. I am well and whole both within and without.”
At that moment a crab was passing by and heard the two oysters, and he said to the one who was well and whole both within and without, “Yes, you are well and whole; but the pain that your neighbor bears is a pearl of exceeding beauty.”
~ Kahlil Gibran
It’s been an interesting year for me. Post to come.
Years back when Britney first came out, I loved her – every girl wanted to be her, every guy wanted to do her. There was a certain freshness and youthful exuberance about her. She was honest, but most of all, she gave others permission to have fun.
I’ve found a great compilation, a tribute to the Old Britney.
Over the years, of course, she’s changed into someone who the Old Britney could not have seen coming. The transformation from Pop Princess, to Popping Out Kids and Queen of Bad Decisions is not exactly one to be proud of. But it’s a journey that’ll give her perspective, wisdom and assurance to be her true self.
With my own 25th coming up, I’m starting to learn the lesson of perspective. It’s one that only experience can teach.
Anyone who understands me KNOWS that I love a bit of competition to spice things up every now and again.
But there will be times when I’m not competitive with you. It will be when:
- Your grey matter weighs much more than mine. (Ie. I’m way out of my league and admit defeat in advance, because let’s face it: there’s no point in embarrassing myself.)
- You are Homer Simpson personified. Your MRI is as shown here. I’m not insecure enough to get my jollies from being responsible for your 10-month hibernation in a foetal position under your warm blankie. (Aww… there there.)
- Your views and resultant actions are fundamentally flawed, logically, morally or otherwise, such that your opinion could never sway my judgement.
- I think winning is not worth the glory and bragging rights. (This rarely occurs. Where it does, it is usually related to #3.)
So, when a friend with plenty of brain power emailed this forth, I couldn’t help but rise to the challenge. It was a hook he knew I’d bait, more like a SUMMONS which if declined, would give him a sizeable chunk of a form of altered bragging rights. And I could just NOT HAVE THAT HAPPEN!!
So Ladies and Gentlemen, put on that thinking hat, crack those knuckles and straighten that back, because here it goes!
There’s a guy who travels on the same train as I do. Short. Late-20s. Caucasian. He carries a semi-filled backpack from the 80s and is dressed casually. Instead of zooming for the nearest window or isle seat like most train travellers, he always prefers to stand near the train doorway.
But he’s not quite what he seems. The train guy has a few quirks. I think he thinks he is a train. Or wants to be a train. Because:
- In concert with the automated announcements you hear when approaching the stations, he will LOUDLY and BOLDLY announce “The next station is… Richmond!”, matching the exact pitch and tone of the automated playback.
- He’ll switch from one side of the train to the other, depending on where the door opens at the next stop. If the door is to open on the left, he’ll animatedly skip over to the left side of the train, and make his announcement from there.
- When the train signals that it will depart a stop and ‘hoots’, he will enthusiastically give his best “hoot!”.
- The same applies when the train reaches a ‘bump’ or ‘kink’ in the railway tracks. He will ‘bump’ and ‘kink’, complete with coordinated head and arm movements.
At the end station, I see him standing by the bus-stop, clinging tightly onto the galvanised fencing, watching intently like a three-year old as the next train approaches. As I walk away from him, I hear a muffled “The next train to depart from platform 1, is the 7:04 Flinders Street, stopping all stations to Flinders Street via the City Loop. Remember to validate your MetCard before you travel.”
I smile to myself.
How pure life must be without the self-burden of others’ perceptions.