Thursday, November 14th, 2002 - Tough Roots So, today I went to the dentist to get some cavities filled. Never a pleasant proposition, this morning it was worse than usual. Don't know why, but I burst into tears as soon as they had me numbed up and ready to drill. This might have to do with the fact that this week has been hell -- I took the GRE and Tim's car died and I have been much moodier than usual (it's weepy week, part deux) and other stuff I don't talk about here. Anyway, I cried, and Dr. Yip, who is the sweetest dentist in the world, didn't want to do the filling because I was so uptight. I was already missing work, so we negotiated and finally settled on nitrous. Raise your hand if you've ever tried nitrous. Ok, now how many of you have had it at the dentist's office? Well, ok, so it's not the whom-whom-whom effect of overdosing on it at a Phish show (which I've done a total of one times; I found the total disorientation unpleasant and not worth the killing of so many brain cells, not to mention I was disturbed by how many Phish Heads walked around with balloons of nitrous and their skin bluish green from lack of oxygen -- shudder). But, well, some gentle nitrous, classical music in my headphones and I didn't care a bit that they were drilling into my mouth. It wasn't *fun* exactly, but it wasn't bad at all. So, that was ok. They told me later how much it costs for each time they do this (and they've written in my file to do it every time). Oh, and they told me I needed a root canal. I got home and called the endodontist, who told me they had just had a cancellation and could see me right then. Well, I figured I was already numb and missing work, so I said yes. I never once stopped to think about the pain in my jaw from holding my mouth open for 4 hours. Stop sniggering. Anyway. I blithely drove off to see Dr. Ho (yeah, yeah, you're all howling by now, I know). Once there, committed to getting this over with, I found out that my insurance for the year was maxed out and that I would need to fork over $869 right there. Folks, I don't have $8.69 right now, let alone if you move the decimal two places right. Anyway, I made a quick call to my fiancee who has room on one of his credit cards, to see if he'd be willing to pay for part of it. He was none too happy, as we were planning on using that to fix my car (see this entry to read the story of how we became a one-car family this week. Oh, what a week!), but agreed to give the number over the phone once we were done. I headed into the chair once again. I'll spare you the gritty details. Let me just state, though, that getting a root canal is really more like a very intense cavity than the oral surgery ordeal I was expecting. No headphones or nitrous (couldn't afford the latter), but by this time I was in shock from how much it all cost and the pain/ sensations were secondary. I even watched a bit in the reflection of the microscope above me. The endontist left a bit of his file in my tooth. I found this out later. He assures me it wouldn't matter, and when he pointed it out on my X-ray I couldn't see what he was pointing at, so I suppose it's probably microscopic, which is why he didn't fish it out. It does bother me, though, I have to admit. But otherwise he was very gentle and sweet, which I would expect from someone Dr. Yip recommends (she's the best, best, best). Anyway, afterwards, when I called Tim to get the credit card number, he didn't have it on him. I managed to convince the secretary that I'd call with it from home, which I did right away. I still owe $261 before Christmas, though, and I'm not sure where the hell it's going to come from. We haven't even paid for my grad school applications yet. Anyway, will worry about it later. So, I've finally read the first round of Flytrap fiction submissions and, boy, is it ever hard to reject people! I had to remind myself of what I want to know when I get rejected (why, why WHY?) and what I find palatable when hearing the word "no". I think I'm doing ok, but part of me wants to accept everyone so I don't have to disappoint them -- especially the stories that have the right feel but don't grab me; it's true, but it sounds so . . . so lame. I'm sure I will grow bitter and very used to this and will be able to whip off rejections without agonizing over them soon enough, but for now . . . well, it hurts a little each time. Not as much as my mouth hurts, though. Man, that aches. I'm sitting up in Tim's room while I read submissions, listening to music and occasionally providing kisses (or requesting them myself). It's lovely. We've wondered before if we could share an office, and he has always been dubious because he likes to listen to music while he works. But, well, I don't mind his music (even like some of it) and the fact is that I get more work done while I'm sitting next to him getting smooches every so often than if I'm down all alone in my cold room, far away from him. I think it would be perfectly lovely to share an office with him. Speaking of the love of my life . . . . Monday night, in the midst of some passionate conversation or another, Tim suddenly decided he was sick of letting Telegraph jewelry hippies dictate the timing of a very important moment in our lives. He got down on his knees (both of them) between the kitchen and dining room and proposed! Called me his love, his heatherbear, and . . . oh, other sweet things. And asked. And I said, "Of course!" I cried. Maybe I was crying already, but it was so lovely, I cried harder. Especially when he went to the counter and made me a ring out of aluminum foil. A little foil ring with a tiny rose on top. It's so damn cute. It broke two days later, of course, but it's something for the scrap book, you know? Damn adorable and charming as hell. But then, that's Tim. So, we're saying we're "unofficially engaged". Hee! I don't know anyone else who has had as many stages of engagement as we have: pre-engaged, unofficially engaged and then, soon, officially engaged. I called the ring hippies on Wednesday and the guy (whom I trust more than the woman, who is defensive and invulnerable to my tears, which makes me cranky) told me they'd set the stone that morning and we could pick it up Thursday. We'll probably get it this weekend; I think Tim will let me at least try it on, but I don't get it until he does the official proposal. Supposedly he has plans. I'm very much looking forward to the experience, whatever he has planned for us. Ah, well, I should upload this then unhook the line and give it back to Tim so he can post his entry (which he wrote near about the same time I wrote this one, though I haven't read it yet.) Hope you are all well, healthy and wealthy and wise. And if you find yourself a bit too wealthy, I've gone ahead and put the donate button over there (up there) to the right, so if you feel like contributing to my dental fund or Flytrap or my grad school application fees, you can. Tell me your dental horror stories or how you got engaged or just chat about whatever.

Exercise Log: Yeah, I think we're going to have to quit the gym to pay the bills, so I'm not sure about this particular log anymore . . . Writing log: Started a weird-ass story about, um, let's call it the cliff story for now, ok? I'd forgotten how much I can get done writing on BART. And Tim and I wrote a very cool little poem last night, which he's already subbed somewhere; I love creating art with my lover. Current Publications: In the Shade of You nominated in the long poem category for the Rhysling and will be reprinted in the 2002 Rhysling Anthology! "How to Suck" reprinted in From Porn to Poetry: Clean Sheets Celebrates the Erotic Mind I've been reading: Currently Reading: A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson Donate money to my teeth, my grad school application fees, our writerly projects (Floodwater and Flytrap!). Every little bit helps!

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