Pain, Orthodontics, and Ditzy Women

I am in pain. Seriously, I'm not joking. It feels like someone is pulling my teeth out half a millimeter at a time, with a pair of pliers. Like I said, Ow.

To understand my pain (and why I'm feeling it) I should start at the beginning of my story instead of the end. I had braces, HAD. I got those horrible metal torture devices off yesterday. After 2 years of dare I say, absolute purgatory, I am free. Why am I still in pain, you may ask? Well...

I was jolted out of sleep by the blaring of a radio somewhere inside the middle of my ear. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I realized the alarm clock wasn't actually inside my head. Relieved, I turned if off and glared at the faintly luminous numbers. I am most definitely NOT a morning person, and 6 am is pure suicide. I got out of bed feeling fairly out of it and definitely not all there. The orthodontist was a sadist, I decided. He delighted in torturing me by making me get up for a 7:20 am appointment. I didn't even know they were OPEN at 7:20.

Somehow, and seriously I have NO recollection, I got ready and because my parents are heartless and enjoy my suffering just as much as my orthodontist, I walked the 20 minutes to my appointment. When I am fully awake, walking is child's play. Asleep, it is slightly more difficult. I'm surprised I was not hit by a car or mugged by...well, someone.

Miraculously, I made it and got safely seated by the...whatever those people are called who do everything to your teeth. Orthodontic Assistant? I quickly decided that this particular OA was a flake, if not a complete ditz. I'm not being cruel or exaggerating. As I held my mouth wide open for her better access to my pearly whites, she poured a steady stream of questions into my ear. Here is a sample of our conversation:

OA: (in a falsely bright voice) "So, I bet your REALLY glad to be getting you braces off right?" (giggles)

Me: "Uh-uh" (spit spews everywhere)

OA: Well, and how is school going for you?"

Me: "Eh eh ooh" (I try manfully to make myself understood as she shoves her fist into the side of my cheek)

OA: "Well, that's good. Do you have plans for the summer?" (grinning cheerfully)

Me: (tears welling in my eyes as she tugs a little TOO hard) "AHHH...uh-huh"

And it goes on...and on...and on. Having exhausted the stream of available questions that she can direct towards me, and having removed the last bracket, she pulls out what looks like a miniature electric sand-paper thingy and proceeds to polish my teeth with it, inflicting a great deal of discomfort, if not pain, on me, AND complaining about the motor for the sanding thingy at least 5 times.

She finishes polishing my teeth, removing the last bit of glue. I go to rinse my mouth out. I look in the mirror and gaze at myself in some shock. My cheeks are covered with blood, and my gums are bleeding profusely. I kid you not. It was disgusting. Apparently, your gums are all swollen and sensitive from the braces so when, as the OA so wittily put it, you even look at them, they bleed. Well, my gums were bleeding and sore.

I hastily scrubbed the dried blood from my cheeks and swished my mouth with water. And then I smiled because my teeth were beautiful (they still are), if I do say so myself. After admiring myself in the mirror for a while, I hurried back. I then got my picture taken several times, and an x-ray. All the while the cheerful OA spewed out a steady stream of comments and instructions. I wanted to do something drastic.

Finally, the orthodontist saw me, gave me the OK and I escaped with my positioner, which is the last word in torture and the reason for my discomfort and pain. It is a big hunk of plastic that fits on to my teeth, holding them in place and moving them slightly. Tweaking, as my OA, ever cheerful, called it. I have to wear it after dinner and to bed, which would explain my bad mood. I woke up last night because of the aforementioned feeling of having my teeth yanked out. Here is a picture, just for you:

I am in pain.

Teusday Challenge

Teudsay Challenge, or rather Tuesday Challene, or rather tuesday challenge (finally)

My friend Gwen made it up. Its where you can't backsapce for you r whole post...i know. its rather neve racking and i'm typing a lot slower than normal becasue i don't want to look like a complete idiot. Its not realy working.\dang!

Anyways, today my moteh (mother) my soster (sister) and my other sister and my other sister adn my baby broher( brotehr, or ratehr brother) and I, all went t o canmore (its in the moutains for all of you who don't live in alberta) to get my little baby brother a Thudguard. What is a thudguard you might well ask? well, a thuydguard is a tiny helmest you put on a baby who insists on baning his head continously on the floo (i meant to say banging and floor). We were afraid he might sutain some brain damage because of the continuous banging, thus the thudguard.

That is a thudguard and although my sister maria insists it make s john look like a moron, i would have to disagree, becasue I think he looks absolutely adorable.

After we got the thudguard we went to a coffe shop, and i drank chocolate mik (milk) and had !/3 or 1/3 of a cinnamon bun. It was very yummy and satisfying and though it was raining cats and dogs i had a great deal of fun and engjoyed myself immensely. Canmore is beautiful and the mountains are big and majestic and they make you think about how silly those people are who think God doesn't exisst. Looking at those mountains all i could think about was how stupid people who've seen the moutnains are, who say God doesn't exist are. I'm not making myself very clear i know but its difficult when you can't baksapce and get rid of your excess words. oh well...

Today is also my b mothers b-day. I've got to scitter cause wer are haveing CAKE!!!! yum...

The Joy of Reading (Good Books)

My sister laughs at me when I say this but...my favorite feeling is after I've read a good book. After reading those last magic words, I sigh, giggle joyfully and contemplate the beauty of such a wonderful and lovely book. I usually go back and read my favorite parts, those parts where you felt a little tingle travel up and down your spine, making your heart beat faster and your imagination to light up with the words on the page.

I am not really doing adequate justice to such a feeling or such books, because for those who know, it is a wonderful and lovely feeling. You've been somewhere else for hours, somewhere enchanting and different. When you wake up from the story, you are still drunk on those magic words. It's enough to make you go into a hermetic lifestyle just to read.

Those of you who have never felt this, those who feel that I am coming it a little strong, you have absolutely no idea what you are missing. There are worlds and people and emotions that you can experience just by cracking open a book. Books take you places and introduce you to people. And as long as there is a satisfying ending, well-chosen words, and a gripping story, I love to read.

Ouch...

Right now I'm in the process of figuring out the basis of my short story...it's difficult but I think I'm onto a good thing.

In other news, it rained today! I love the rain :D.

Sigh...I am really, really sorry. I am so tired I can hardly form a coherent though. Nothing interesting comes to mind and I have absolutely no anecdotes or wise words to impart. My brain hurts, my elbows hurt, my fingers hurt. I am one big ball of pathetic hurtingness and my yawns are splitting my head in half. Oh woe is me...

Tomorrow will be a better day. I shall write part 1 of my story, and please deal with me honestly. Criticism is not wanted, but it is needed. I shall nurse my bruised ego in private, make the changes, and bite the bullet (I've always wanted to say that and I've never had a chance!)

Anyways, I'm going to have soak in a hot bath to bruise my aching feet and brain. Don't judge me, I think I'm coming down with a cold...

I Need Feeback!

So...

I'm kinda stuck for ideas of what to tell you about today. No little bits of wisdom, funny stories(embarrasing more like), or crazy ideas come to mind.

However, the lovely Maria, my sister, suggested I write short stories on my blog, for practice. Tell me what you think. Unless the idea is absolutely repulsive to you, I think I might try my hand at some light fiction.

Oh and a few ideas wouldn't be remiss either. I'm kinda stuck on ideas right now. Writers block...sigh.

Parentheses and Me

Parentheses and I have a problem, or rather I have a problem with parentheses. I shall now make a resolution not to use parentheses on this post, but only on this post for if I cut them from every post I am afraid my soul couldn't bear the strain. If I slip up and one sneaks in I give you permission to slam me in the comments.

Today I had piano. I was afraid. I felt as though I was going to vomit.

The reason for my strange stomach movements and my nonsensical fear was the fact that I hadn't practiced more than twice this week and I was ridiculously unprepared. Realistically, there was little grounds for such fear. But stomachs don't deal in reality. Despite the fact that my lovely music teacher wouldn't hurt a fly OR skin me alive, I felt myself sweating as I entered her apartment. I had my lesson, and about halfway through I found myself laughing at that earlier fear...fear always seems funny when you look back at it.

Anyways, piano is over, I wasn't skinned alive and I'm not afraid anymore...until my next lesson, when I think I really will vomit.

p.s.-Don't get me wrong, I love piano. However, Its terrifying when you haven't practiced and you are totally unprepared. Learn from my mistakes and BE PREPARED!!!! (Hoodwinked reference! (oops))

My Fatheadedness and Swollen, Bloody Noses

I am a fathead. Although I am a fathead, I am the only person who is aloud to call me a fathead. If anybody else did, you would get a punch in the nose, though you would be speaking the truth. You held firmly to the truth, and for your pains you would have a swollen, bloody nose. You might have guessed I don't enjoy people telling me the truth about me. I much prefer being told sweetly flattering lies, and living my life in blissful ignorance.

And now I am woefully off course. To yank myself back to the pleasant topic of my fatheadedness, I shall relate to you a true story, about a spacey, forgetful girl (me), who's only wish in life was to arrive on time for her piano lesson but who instead go horribly muddled.

Every Wednesday I have a piano lesson at 2:30, and I am usually driven by one of my devoted, doting, darling parents. Today, however, was DIFFERENT. Today, I took the bus or rather, I tried to take the bus. I set out from my house in good time to catch the train from Dalhousie Station, getting off at Brentwood where I was supposed to catch the 20 Heritage bus.

As I stepped off the train, I glanced at my watch and realized with apprehension that I was rather behind schedule (due to the fact that trains don't always arrive on time). This apprehension sent a signal to my legs, and they responded with a half-hearted gallop.

Coming into view of the Bus Stops below me, my half-hearted gallop turned into a whole-hearted sprint as I watched the 20 prepare to leave. In a last humongous effort, I charged down the stairs, onto the bus, and collapsed on my seat. Upon my triumph, I quickly proceeded to pull out my book, falling into a reverie. I was shaken out of my reverie, by the realization that I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHERE THE BUS WAS TAKING ME! In short, I was on the wrong bus.

As this realization coursed through my soul and proceeded to burn and turn to ash any self-respect I had up till now held for myself, I just sat there, stunned. What the jumping jehovah witnesses was I going to do!? A quick glance at my watch told me there was absolutely no hope of getting to my lesson on time, and as I had no idea where I was I decided on my course of action. I waited...and waited...and waited...

Until at long last the bus swept into Brentwood Station and I was able to take my burning cheeks and ashes home.

To be met by the indignation of my family at my stupidity. All of which I richly deserve.

Oh, and I just want to make one point clear. Yes, I take the bus quite often, and yes, this is the first time I've ever taken the wrong bus before. I'm normally not that stupid (I hope).