The Bottom Row of My Teeth

The bottom row of my teeth is aching. Each tooth feels like its trying to wriggle out of my gums. I don’t know where they think they’re going to go. Another more frequently flossed mouth perhaps? A larger mouth that doesn’t require them to be pressed up against each other—public transit style? Ugh. I wish they would just make a run for it already and cease this throbbing that is terrorizing me with rhythmic constancy. Flee on those two little white-rooted legs, that’s all I ask.

Truth is—I know exactly why the bottom row of my teeth is aching. I caught myself doing it the other day—clenching my teeth together out of the sheer inability to express an emotion both new and exciting. My puppy, Thea is to blame. She is so unthinkably cute that my mind cannot adequately react to her furry matter. The inquisitive, olive eyes, the downey-soft, floppy ears, the oversized paws that look like they were photo-shopped in from some other animal—I can’t handle it. And so in a complete loss of socially acceptable ways to express myself, I have begun clenching my teeth together. Apparently hard. Freakish, I know, but it’s really not much different from what a stress ball does for someone who is angry or……stressed. Squeeze a ball really hard and somehow you don’t feel like throwing yourself off a building at the end of it. And if you do—squeeze again. And if you still do—chain yourself to your desk or quit your job. The same principle applies here only there are no stress balls for teeth. Except for dogs, which have chew toys. I’ll have to try that.

The pain continues. I am trying to coax my teeth into staying,--promising change, blah blah blah. I’m not sure if they’re buying it and apparently they’ve decided to make my life hell in the meantime.
Time to pop some pills. Which means this blog is finished.