Drilling the Bones

Play this (I’m Too Sexy)

The drill of the Dentist grinds against my teeth as I watch the freshly pulverized bone spiral up into the overhead light. Water streams down my left cheek, and I’m trying my best not to freak out too much as the good dentist works his way through a lively play list whistling a bar of “rock lobster,” mumbling a few lines of “Shorty Got Low Low low Low…” and finally jumping into full fledged song as “I’m too sexy” begins to play.

I consider the fact that If I were in some other context these karaoke sessions may almost be enjoyable. Hell If I weren’t in the middle of gagging on my own blood & inhaling the dust of what was formerly my teeth, I would probably start belting out the songs as well. Alas, that is not the case, what I am stuck doing is a series of isolatteral exercises so that I don’t freak the fuck out and punch someone who I assume is trying to help me out.

As my upper jaw was quite numb I contemplated the neuronal inhibiting magic of localized anesthetic injections, without which I might prefer to slowly let a tooth rot and fall out over facing the momentary pain of a dental drill. As soon as this stuff is injected pain ceases to exist, the only thing withstanding being the detection of significant pressure. I give a silent thank you for this and also consider the funny idea of trust. How does a person decide that it is OK to trust anyone with a couple of papers on their wall that say they did alright in training, a stock pile of anesthetics, and an interesting taste in music.

I think of all the times my older sister assisted in removal of my baby teeth.

I think of a white bearded old man I met at the Epic Cafe in Tucson who suggested I do all my own dental work and go find a pet raven…


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