Which God’s Dog Did I Kick

Work deadlines, forever home house hunting, starting to pack for the move, filling out mortgage application paperwork, the news, the world, the Mango Mussolini & his cult, skunks, gophers… It is enough to get on your last nerve and dance on it a bit.

And when you finally think that maybe, perhaps, against all odds, you might be keeping your nose above water, the Universe says, “Yeah, right! It’s cute that you think that!”

I’m trying to keep it in the proper perspective. It’s not cancer. I wasn’t hit by a car. The Long-Suffering Wife and my kids are all fine. But, on the other hand – JEEZ LOUISE!!

Those of you who have been reading a while will remember that last summer was a freakin’ festival of fun in a dental sense, with three root canals and all of the accompanying crowns and fillings and EXPENSE and *PAIN*!

Eating breakfast this morning I felt the “pop!” and the “crack!” (no “snap,” but I might have missed that in all of the excitement of the moment) and sure enough, there’s a huge chunk of tooth that’s gone walkabout.

I’m not in absolute agony, thankfully, but it’s tender and sore and I’m going to assume that absolute agony is in the on-deck circle just waiting for it’s turn at bat any moment, so as busy as this week already was going to be, I’m going to need to figure out how to squeeze in at least one and probably a couple of dental appointments.

Using a phrase I think I learned from the esteemed Jim Wright online (“Stonekettle”), “Which god’s dog did I kick? And how do I apologize?”

This too shall pass. But then again, they say that about kidney stones, and I’ve had them a number of times and I never want to have them again. Just like major dental work.