I hate being a grownup. HATE IT. HATE.
I am in a terrible mood today. Terrible. I’m sick with whatever the baby has for one thing, so I’m achy all over; my mouth still hurts from that ill-conceived bullshit wisdom teeth extraction last Monday, and my kids are driving me nuts. Even with the scaled-down school week, I’m having a hard time not digging three small holes in the backyard. Nobody wants to work. Constant complaining, constant bickering. SICK OF IT.
Need to write, need to create. A poem, a story. Anything.
Need to cut the grass. Sigh.
Everyone wants to be noticed. Everyone wants to matter. Everyone wants to believe that what they have to say is important. Hence, the proliferation of blogs, mine no exception. However, no one wants to read anymore. No one wants to consider, to connect, to give attention to others. In our modern world, we are so used to the steady diet of marketing-speak – the infinite ticker of flashing, blinking, meaningless messages – that no one wants to pay attention to anything of substance. We literally communicate through sound bites these days; through bumper sticker slogans and catch phrases and snarky comments. Jesus, that is so fucking depressing.
Monday, in order to stop the pain, the dentist packed the gaping holes in the back of my mouth with 1 1/2″-long pieces of gauze soaked in clove oil.
Soaked in clove oil.
SOAKED IN CLOVE OIL.
Though it’s marginally better now, for the longest time my mouth would suddenly be flooded with this overwhelming taste of cloves. It’s sickening. I’ve been sucking on peppermints and Tic Tacs for counter-effect (to some success), but at night it’s still really bad. It’s been giving me bad dreams.