The Bloody Doors Off

Having trouble getting used to the dentures. The way the plastic hits my soft palette.

If there was less of it. I think that’d be fine.

Also having issues with not wearing them. It feels unnatural, not having front teeth.

And that’s not something, I think, is gonna change in the short-term.

Did I mention that I’m not done?

Bottom four front teeth come out Thursday.

Which prompts a new question.

Can I get along without bottom dentures?

Or will vanity.

Mostly comfort.

But a little vanity.

Will that bend the decision towards ‘yes’?

I hoped the passing storm would’ve answered that question.

Thunderstorms both thrill and terrify me.

The terror goes back to childhood. A summer storm, gale force winds slamming my door closed and 5-year old hands unable to twist the round handle, blinding-white lightning casting nefarious shadows along the wall. Thunderous booms echoing in my ears. That may have been my first ever panic attack.

But now I feel like Prospero in The Tempest. Bending nature to his will.

(To be honest, I can’t remember the full plot. I just hope it’s the right metaphor. Not like I’m Caliban or anything. (Again, I have no fucking clue what I mean. Just go with it.))

Back to the question.

Dentures or no?

People can see my bottom teeth when I talk.

Or.

They won’t.

And that terrifies me.