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Day three of the new year and day five of a fractured molar that has become infected. My lower right jawline looks like I’m storing nuts for winter. The radiating ache is one of sheer torture. Fortunately I’m a stalwart Rx pill saver and have some 900 gazillion mg of ibuprofen that I rotate with off-the-shelf pain killer. Plus I take them with alcohol. To quote Neely O’Hara in ‘Valley of The Dolls’ they work faster. But I digress.

Oh hell I knew the damn molar was trouble; they told me to schedule one of those 3D panoramic x-ray thangs after my annual cleaning but lo and behold I ignored that. How bad could a fractured molar be?

Very bad. Saturday night the pain radiated heat and I felt my heartbeat in that molar. Can we all agree there is nothing worse than tooth pain? During the wee sleepless hours of my pain—which was edged by watching QVC on mute—I considered getting the needle nosed pliers from my toolbox and self extracting the molar. The crazed sleep deprived mind can rationalize anything. How hard could it be I wondered? And since I was already in pain just how much more pain could I achieve by popping off the molar crown to relieve the pus-filled agony.

I did not do that of course because my last rational brain cell allowed me to call my dentist for an antibiotic Rx. I am feeling better and have an appointment scheduled for followup and that damn x-ray that will surely promote the extraction of the fucking tooth.

To sum up the initial days of the new year: the tree is down and packed away. I’m pissed that I have a dental issue. The other night I dreamed my exBF was standing in my mother’s decaying family room. He was in his signature blue plaid shirt; I could see the dry rot wood floors beneath his feet. I have no dream interpretation skills but maybe they’re discussing first dibs on who greets me when I cross over. Minus one rear molar.