February 17, 2004
Braced Against Elastics
Nothing drags me down to the depths of my black, black soul quite like a trip to an orthodontist.
I have spent seven or so years behind bars, or at least my teeth have. I cannot claim too much knowledge about jail sentences, but I think you may be able to kill someone accidentally with a vehicle and receive less time if you behave well enough.
After staring at my teeth for too long and making yet another appointment I was promised I would not need to miss a class I do not want to miss, especially not for an orthodontist appointment, I leave frustrated and generally hating the world some. I hate that this metal makes me feel even uglier than I already do, that for this week I have to keep an eye on the time and make sure I wear my rubberbands from six pm to six am and if I do not do it then I will receive some kind of disapproving look, something along the lines of What could you have possibly been doing that would prevent you from wearing elastics for twelve hours by the second?
Someone will be hurt if I go to college with braces on. Or they are going to pay for my plane tickets home and my travel time.
What made it worse was that when I made my appointment I yet again encountered the scary dental hygenist who makes me want to rip off my braces without medication so I never have to see her again.
My dad told me next time when my orthodontist asks me if I can come again for an WHOOPS extra appointment I should say no. Last time I told him something along those lines of yes I could come in but only if the time slot is available that will work in my schedule. He told me that we could probably figure out something for me since I come so often and for so long.
Can I get a bullshit? Bullshit? Amen!
I have better things to do with my time than sit and wait for him to check on everything so I can go home to feel like shit about myself. If this were any other kind of relationship I could get out running. If it were romantic or a friendship I would have changed my number by now. If this were any other kind of doctor or dentist I would have changed midstream. But since this is my fucking orthodontist and since we are already fucking paid up and he has a fucking wonderful plan I am stuck with this bastard.
Capital punishment is looking like a mercy killing at this point.
And what sucks is that I was in a good mood. I talked to my Lit teacher who is reading my novel as I write it piece by piece and he told me that he really liked what I have written so far, that I should keep on with this and he is looking forward to essentially having a serial to read every week or so. He said my dialogue was natural without it being painfully so and he liked the way I started with narration then let dialogue tell most of the story. He appreciated my wit and the general set up.
His praise was more important than usual because I came into the meeting ready to declare myself a failure, naive to think I could write fiction.
But now that elation is a dim glow that I think happened but no longer feel connected to. It's only a light, nothing to be grasped or held or even accurately captured by Kodak. My mind cannot wrap itself around Latin and I hate my job yet again because it makes schoolwork so much harder, as do people, as do everything.
Right now the only thing getting me through is I will be house/dog sitting starting on Thursday, coming home to a dog who loves me unconditionally and is anxious to see me. I can get lost in taking walks then enjoy an empty house to do whatever I want without my dad trying to talk to me about something or other when I have obviously expressed my interest to be an abyss.
Meanwhile I find Wagner endlessly fascinating and I am bitter that I do not have the time to read Wagner's Hitler most likely until Spring Break.
When I get my braces off I think I should get to keep them and maybe attach them to some iron or brass knuckles. Then I should get a couple of test swings. I do believe it would be the prettiest violent accesory one could own.
Elastics make me inflexible and hard, even if they supposedly place me into my proper place.
Love,
Mandy