A trip to the dentist. I only have a few things that actually give me a good case of the 'heebies', and while the dentist ranks the lowest on that scale, it still doesn't mean I'm not scared shitless. Maybe it's the horrible sound of the tools, or the nauseating smells, maybe it's the too large hands trying to force themselves into my mouth....whatever the reason, I pity my dentist today. I pity him because not only am I scared but I am a nervous wreck. They've been warned in advance that I'm a white knuckler so I flatly refuse to feel bad for any of the terrible things I say while they work. Not that they will be able to understand a damned thing I'm saying with my mouth shoved full of cotton.
Now that's out of the way, Thirty Years is doing better than I expected considering the dark subject matter and the visceral level the main character forces the reader to go in order to understand her life and her choices. It's not a happily every after story, but it is reality for some people and that's the reason Thirty Years had to be written. And it makes me smile to see her shining there in the dashboard.
Okay, I've put off getting ready for the dentist as long as I possibly could, so now I have to get ready.
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