The Bloody Doors Off

A bit hyperbolic.

But I definitely feel. Puffy.

Fifty-four years in this skin suit, it expects teeth to keep it from sagging.

Not that I’m sagging.

But it feels.

Puffy.

So I’m bringing the laptop with me this weekend.

Turns out I can’t stand the idea of a period of time without writing.

Whether it’s a play or a blog post.

Naturally, the damned thing hasn’t run serious updates since March and is gonna take half the night to refresh.

At least I can tether it to the ethernet. The damned wifi is so slow for it.

Why do I always seem to attract the wrong machinery?

I do my research.

Clearly not well enough.

No surprise then, I can be quite clueless sometimes, when it comes to other matters.

Can’t read people so easily.

Subtext, while crucial in any story, eludes me in real life.

Steve Martin, when he did stand-up, had a joke.

Because it was impossible to meet single women, he suggested they have a particular object (I’ll spare you the details; it’d turn your stomach) attached to their shoes. You saw that, you knew how to approach her.

Same premise. Sometimes you’ve gotta hit me upside the head with what you want.

I want new teeth.

Thursday feels forever away.

I tried to eat a grilled cheese sandwich this morning.

You hear about people ‘gumming’ their food.

I’ve got first-hand knowledge of how it feels.

And I’m feeling anxious for this laptop to finish updating.

Because now that I know I wanna write while I’m cottaging (hey that’s an actual word), I need the laptop updated. I need to load the new version of Final Draft, copy over my short plays in case I want to edit.

To make a long story short.

My father-in-law would say that. I knew him for a short time, but I truly liked him. And whenever he told a story, which was (to me) often, Allan would eventually wrap it up with “to make a long story short…”.

They’re engraving that on his headstone.

There’s so much love there. Don’t you think?

I think I need dinner.

What’ll I gum tonight?

Eating is.

Odd.

I dipped my finger in warm sauce.

I’m not allowed hot food today but Dr. Sugarman said warm food was fine.

And so I need to test the temperature.

I bring it to my lips.

There are no upper teeth to block my finger.

No teeth to buffer the sauce back along my tongue.

Alien.

I do not like this.

Thursday can’t come soon enough.

I am a reverse-toothless vampire.

Canines are intact. If I was a bloodsucker, I wouldn’t starve.

But I have to use my back teeth to chew.

There’s so much food in the fridge but I dunno how I’m gonna eat it.

‘Sides, can’t have hot things for the first 24 hours.

Let this be a lesson, kids.

Don’t fuck around with your teeth.

You’ll miss ’em when they’re gone.

Front four teeth extracted.

One of them had a cyst.

That’s not good.

Luckily it’s draining and shouldn’t pose any further problems.

I’ll be eating gauze for a few hours.

But we have ice cream.

And I get transitional dentures Thursday afternoon.

So get it outta your system now.

‘Cuz I ain’t gonna be Stumpy for long.

Can’t sleep.

Never could, the night before a flight out of town.

The anxiety messes with me.

Didn’t wanna miss take-off.

Moving on is a chance that you take every time
You try to stay together
Say a word out of line and you find
That the friends you had are gone
Forever, forever
So many faces in and out of my life
Some will last, some will just be now and then
Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes
I’m afraid it’s time for goodbye again

Say Goodbye to Hollywood, Billy Joel

This has nothing to do with my mood, I just like the lyrics.

I remember my brother’s Wayne’s wedding. His best man, Joe, and I hopped into his convertible on a hot, sunny September day (the 5^th, if I’m correct, but don’t ask me the year) and drove from the Lusteads’ beautiful property (their lot was twice the size of anyone else’s on the block, and the park we backed onto was named after their family) to the reception hall.

This song played. And it was the. Song. Of the moment.

That was a good day.

I need to put that song on my Spotify list.

Harold’s digging around the back of my head.

I’m throwing up blocks.

Keeping him out.

Deep breaths.

It’s gonna be okay.

Three days.

And a new chapter begins.

With teeth I’m not afraid to eat corn on the cob.

Gonna be a long three days.

Sure.

Waiting always feels longer.

Did Einstein ever work that formula out?

Hawking?

I could use a distraction or two.

Best of both worlds.

They’re gonna do the extractions on Monday, after all.

And they found time on Thursday for me to come in and get the dentures put in.

I dunno how, but the universe came through for me today.

And it’s not going unnoticed.

Or unappreciated.