But this time, with good reason. If you must know, I face-planted, right on the sidewalk, breaking my glasses and my right front tooth.
Good news: the break stopped right before the nerve. So instead of agonizing in pain, I'm whiling away the week until my health insurance decides what they have to pay for and what they can weasel out of.
Bad news: I've got nothing to do but wait, and hope it can be fixed without being replaced. It's also fractured back behind, right close to the gum, so my dentist was rather dour about the situation.
Me, I'm progressing well through the stages of tooth loss. After the initial shock and following lengthy depression, I'm about to the stage of being ready to laugh it off as one of those shit things that just happens, karmic payback for cutting off and old lady in an Oldsmobile five years ago. If only I can, like, get it fixed in the near future. Oral sugery, hooray!
Falling down, at least if you're young, ought to be one of those things exempt from surgery-needing type injuries. Your pride takes enough of a dent for being too stupid to walk down the street without getting tripped up, and that's something that takes time to heal, so come on, let it go. Why you gotta kick a boy when he's down.
It was nice to get back to work today, just to have something to do and worry about instead of sitting on the couch and feeling the place in my mouth where something's missing. No, you can't see a picture. Maybe when you're older. Although, it undoubtedly will better my Grizzly Adams Halloween costume.
And speaking of work, I think in mid-November I'm going to get to go to a sweet Americorps retreat for everybody in Wisconsin, at which in addition to kickin' it with awesome mannens, they're giving us Red Cross training to be emergency response helpers. Yeah. That's pretty cool.
So there's something. I'm going to go watch baseball and pretend my health peril doesn't exist. Take that, Oldsmoblie lady.