kidding. they're on the counter.
they look so clean, so perfect, so little.
why did they have to be cut out? i don't know. low on dough, them surgeons.
it wasn't the most enjoyable experience i've had in the last four months or so, but in the context of pain, it was quite fitting. yeah. cue the sappy music. woe is me.
the needle went in, and this guy? man he was so funny. he was asking me all the questions he knew the answer to. who's your dentist kendall? like he didn't know! man. if i could go back in time, that's the first thing i would do: answer his questions wrong. just to trip him up a bit. feeling kind of funny kendall? yeahhhhh, but i like itttttt.
when i came to, i recall spelling things urgently with my hands. i know my letters, but apparently i wasn't making much sense. i could have sworn i was spelling out my brother's name, but he was standing right there, so maybe not. i then demanded someone's phone to text out my needs, but became irate because the phone wasn't in T9. lastly, i signed "tree."
excellent.
it's now been three days and i have to stop taking vicodin and i have to stop sleeping all day, or so they say. fuck the man, right? my mouth still hurts. honestly.
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hahahaha i did the same thing when i was first up from getting gassed. i wanted to ask the surgeon if everything went ok and he didn leave and shards of teeth that would need to be re operated on.... try writing that out! haha actually i first started to talk but then they handed me a piece of paper since my mouth was full of cotton.
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