Day 69, Be Brave Project; Eavesdropping and Dis-ease

I'm feeling a little. . .thoughtful today. A tad on the contemplative side. Ruminative: slowly chewing things over with the teeth of my mind.

Oh dear. The teeth of my mind?? Let's continue nonetheless.

You see, the end of the year has rushed right up on me. It's come snaking right up towards my ass, and I do not appreciate it. It seems it was just a minute ago that I was at my old apartment, listening to the grinding churn of my air-conditioner. . .and suddenly I've bought my tickets home for Christmas. Gak.

6 weeks to the end of the year, and I haven't achieved enough. I haven't written enough. I haven't put myself out there dating-wise (and cannot really imagine that happening anytime soon). I haven't found a way to make some good money while putting some behind. I instead am still living in my hand-to-mouth sort of way, hoping for the best but not sufficiently planning for the worst. And not writing enough.

I think much of this was stirred up by what happened when I went back to my dentist's office yesterday. I tripped in merrily, said Hello to Maya at the desk--who knows me well enough now to just smile and point towards the seating area--and sat myself down to read a US News & Weekly Report all about the election. I was feeling quite perky; had just spent some time at the gym and then at the library working on structure for a novel. I was wearing my new "rich girl" Italian camel's hair jacket (from my favorite thrift shop--score!) that I'd recently had dry-cleaned, and elegant wedge-heeled suede boots.

Next to me was sitting a stocky European man with shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. The waiting area at the dentist's is a very small, narrow space like the kitchen seating in a mobile home, and this man's hands and knees seemed to be too large. He leaned forward anxiously to ask Maya a question about his treatment--from her rather weary answers, I could tell this had been going on for some time. "How much percent do I get off on the root canal?" He asked. "Your dental plan gives 15% off, but we need to call them to confirm your plan." "Okay."

There was a pause as Maya turned toward her work, but her very ponytail was stiff with irritation at the question she knew was coming next.

"How much percent extra can I get off on the root canal?"

"None. You pay what the price is."

Pause.

"Can I get the root canal to pay by the month?"

"No."

"You said before maybe I could."

"Sir, the doctor said No."

The poor bastard, I thought smugly. Got his root canal ahead of him and not firmly in the past. I knew that like me, he hadn't budgeted for dental emergencies--just had his discount plan, a wing, and a prayer. Or rather a tooth, and an infection.

When I grew up it seemed all adults had everything covered--massive amounts of insurance, of money for camps or schools or trips. . .roomy houses and freedom from financial worry. There was great sorrow and resentment in my childhood home, and some violence--but no worry about money that I could detect. Now of course I know that there must have been, and that people face this stuff all of the time. Sometimes you cannot organize your life sufficiently. . .but the poor stocky man's worried face and timid persistent manner made me feel his vulnerability, and the vulnerability of all of us who haven't perhaps made the money we hoped to make, or done what we hoped we'd do with our lives so far.

So I was already moving from smugness to sympathy when Maya told me I could go into the dentist's room. I sat down in the angled vinyl chair, said Hello to the hygienist, and twiddled my thumbs whilst gazing at the ceiling. . .until I noticed that the hygienist was placing the colored pins on the tray in preparation for the dentist's arrival.

Actually, they just look like pins with brightly colored tips, but they are really tiny pin-like files. Used to clean out infected canals.

"Uhm--I had the root canal last week," I pointed out, "I'm just here to do the molding for a crown."

Her perfectly painted eyebrows rose, in pity. "No, mami. You are getting the rest of your root canal today."

"Whaa--?"

"Too much infection to get it all last week. . ."

Oh crap. The dentist snapped on his rubber gloves and broke out the dental dam.

An unpleasant hour ensued.

So that kicked up a lot of stuff for some reason: I walked home with a numb jaw and an unsettled mind, and when in the apartment all I could think was I should have bought somewhere when mortgages were easy--fuckin' fathead. I thought of Christmas and my brothers with their families, while I go visit my poor drunken mother should have married some poor guy just to get away get secure get settled. I look at my bank account and it all becomes you've got to write something now you've got to sell something now do it do it. . .

Not a good night.

But I will continue to get my medical tests done, get my dental crap dealt with. I will check with the editor at Women's Health to push for a response on the piece I sent her. And I will keep working on that novel structure. . . I need to be set in a career in 2009.

I need to settle down. At last.