Waiting On A Tug Boat

I felt as though the blood test I had last week coupled with the decision to give myself an emo boy haircut wasn't sufficiently traumatizing, so today I went and had a cavity filled. I was tired, I planned on sleeping through most of it, and things were going pretty well until the dentist started moving his mouth and dispensing stress words and medical jargon. I had a Jerry Maguire moment where I had to stop and be like "Alright, so I started seeing dots and feeling puke in my throat at "banana shaped roots"". Oh yeah, and when you went through the universal "tug of war" motions in regards to removing my wisdom teeth, I had to sit down for fear of fainting.

What I find amusing about my dentist is his dense obliviousness. This guy will cringe, bite down on his teeth, cock his head to the side and inhale painfully as he looks at my X-rays. Then he'll look absolutely perplexed when I tell him that I'm ready to vomit.

"What? Oh don't worry, I just have to be honest with you about these sorts of things."

"These sorts of things?" Did you just cast me off into The Canadian Degenerate Leper Teeth Group with that last sentence? I felt slightly embarrassed as I sat down and admitted that I couldn't stand up too well, but I was more embarrassed that he had been doing this dentist thing for god knows how long and never once considered that his detached, blunt deliveries might be slightly upsetting. After a certain point his words were lost on me and the only thing I could focus on was making a barf plan. Yes that's right, a plan for where I would barf if the situation were to...arise.

I left, trying to play down the fact that I can't cope with the most minor of unpleasant situations, and got into my car. I drove home thinking all the while about a theory that someone I know believes in quite adamantly. When things are bad they sometimes get worse, and then a little bit worse, and then worse still, but in the course of things, if the bad has been sticking around for a relatively long while, then some greater power will cut you a break and give your little tug boat a push. It was never clear to me if the push was fueled from pity, was earned, or was just plain coincidence, but I think the point was that it would arrive eventually.


I'm gonna get in my tug boat, try to put on some makeshift seat belt made out of sea weed, and wait for a sailor, a drunk hippie, or maybe even a a topless mermaid to give me a god damn push.