Fuck!

Goddamnit. The dentist's secretary just phoned to remind my brothers that they have a dentist appointment next week. After realizing who she was talking to, she told me I was long overdue for an appointment. Like a rodent's attempt to escape the jaws of life in an owl's claw, I failed miserably to wiggle and squirm my way out of making an appointment-- her schedule was way more accommodating than I would have liked. Thus, I have to see my dentist Thursday at 11. I hate seeing the dentist with every fiber of my being. I hate being propped in a seat with gizmos and gadgets that make scary, life-threatening sounds, prodding around in my mouth making me paranoid to move my tongue a fraction of an inch for the fear that it might be ripped right from the back of my throat. And, you know, I've grown quite attached to where my tongue is currently situated. I especially hate it when I'm told that if I were to floss more frequently, my gums wouldn't be in as much pain as they are now for future visits. This is then repeated every single fucking time she shoves the floss between two teeth causing my gums to bleed. I hate flossing and I hate your advice, so get your goddamn fingers out of my mouth.