Gums Should Be Covered By Insurance
Codeine gives me headaches.
The whole point of the “caesura” section of this website is supposed to be low-pressure personal updates/thoughts/breakdowns/ephemera for more regular updates and howdy-dos, but of course—it’s me, so nothing is low-pressure and I freak out about writing anything from text messages to emails to grocery lists to essays and beyond. But, the meaning behind a shooting star isn’t its destination, but its journey. I literally just pulled that out of my ass, but it works and made my increasingly-confirmed ADHD diagnosis sound beautiful and magnanimous instead of annoying and othering.
This isn’t about ADHD and disappointment, though. It’s about… well, it isn’t “about” anything. I guess it’s about me, but my concept of self is currently so loosely defined it might as well be the platform of a candidate for the Libertarian party. If it says anything about my current mental state, I had to stop and reread that sentence to determine if it just /sounded/ clever or was actually clever. We’ll literally never know. We’ll never know.
I tend to be sort of mum about personal life details these days. Partly because in my standup days I had gotten into the bad social media habit of over-sharing every detail of my personal life and thoughts—partly because not all of my personal life details are mine to share—partly because of ch-ch-ch-changes that I don’t want to necessarily give up-to-the-minute updates about like my life is some sort of traffic pile-up on the 5—and partly because the ole “personal life” has been sort of depressing (as you know) and some of the details are… what’s a good way to say “tragic” without sounding melodramatic? Less-than-pleasurable.
However, if you follow me on Twitter, you may know that I recently had a bit of a “medical ballyhoo” as we like to say around here. Things are fine. Essentially, through a series of events somehow unknown to me thought they involve my own body (or “ghost-filled-meat-sack” as the kids like the say) I somehow got a—to quote the dental surgeon—"unusually deep and concerningly wide” lesion on my gum. No clue how it got there. Absolutely zero idea. My best guess was a tortilla chip on New Years Eve (I ate a whole jar of queso. It was my first resolution) but that was… contradicted. Apparently—and this is good information for people planning murders—tortilla chips cannot create deep, wide incisions. Best I can figure is some sort of fae or cryptid. I’ve watched enough conspiracy theory documentaries to immediately have the thought that it was an alien implant, but that would be absurd because the alien implant is already in the mysterious scar on my abdomen from my childhood.
Anyway, I’ve been on pain meds all week, which—while fun—really put a whole damper in the whole “buckling down to get ahead on work and organization” I had planned for this week. It made me a bit loopy and dissociated (which was fun when, you know, we almost went to war) up until the codeine gave me such a massive migraine (as it always does for me, the World’s Worst Heroin Fiend) and I had to ween myself off it (not to be confused with the band Ween who I always get confused with the band Weep helmed by the creator of the Venture Bros, Doc Hammer).
All of this is to say… actually like I said up-top, this is to say nothing. I guess the moral is that not every garden path leads to a gazebo. Sometimes it just walks you through the garden. If this post really was to be /about/ anything, I suppose it should be about this reminder that _Schitt’s Creek_’s final season /just/ started and _The Good Place_ is returning to leave this weekend. If you haven’t watched them, watch them. They’re the last speckles of beauty in the night’s sky before the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy of mankind’s bootstrapped, bespoke Ragnarok. As the Sugarhill Gang once sang: jump on it.
