How do *you* spell relief?

November 3rd, 2006 § 3

Mon­day
Smoo dj’ed a dance even though math has been giv­ing her some prob­lems. I don’t remem­ber any­more what I did, other than read Kit’s story for the work­shop and sleep. Must have known I’d need it.
Tues­day
School in the morn­ing. (I got a @#$^ B on my test… a B! I am so ashamed.) Then work, where I am busy busy busy… doing what? Well, break­ing my tooth of course!!! Made an appoint­ment at the den­tal spa (yes, spa. Bella Facia Den­tal Spa in Poway. Go there. Dr. Whang and crew rock!). Home­work in the evening and then lots of TV. (Does any­one know where I can get a copy of the Boston Legal theme song?)
Wednes­day
Woke up with the most hor­ren­dous pain in my right boob. Swollen, too. Slogged through the day and, between tooth and boob, was men­tally all messed up. Writer’s work­shop in the evening was a god­send. Went home after, and instead of home­work, set up a blog for work­shop mom. (I just called you “mom”. Is that bad? I hope not. I mean it like a title. My busi­ness card says “Web Mom”. Any­way…) Did not sleep well due to the bulky mouth guard keep­ing me from both cut­ting my tongue on cut tooth and breathing.
Thurs­day
Boob even more sore. (I love the word “boob”. I love all words with a long “oo” sound in them. A fetish, per­haps. All my fam­ily mem­bers have at least one nick­name with “oo” in it, often morphs of “boob” or “poop”. Poor them.) Called the doc­tor, but it turned into a day of phone tag and get­ting passed around. No final promised call-back. Need­less to say, I am com­pletely freak­ing out. For­got to take my home­work to evening class, but did turn in a paper on Dos­to­evsky for my morn­ing class which was writ­ten with 90% of the good con­tent in foot­notes, a la David Fos­ter Wal­lace. Love that man. He proves you don’t have to be stu­pid to be funny, or that depth doesn’t breed dull­ness. Any­way, between school and school, went to the den­tist and had a lot of work done on the bro­ken tooth as well as a paraf­fin­ing and hand mas­sage. Yum. Den­tists of the world, you get­ting this? Take notes. Any­way, got home to one good thing and one bad. First, the nicest car­toon­ist and sculp­tor in the world sent me a lit­tle blue dragon (which she didn’t have to do) and I love him very much thank you thank you. Also, I find out that I screwed the pooch (two more good “oo” words) on the blog I had spun up, so I spent the night try­ing to fix it, only to make it incre­men­tally worse. Gave up and read a book about ways to die until I fell asleep. Dreamed about inspect­ing the world’s nipples.
Fri­day
Boob still hurts. Called doc­tor back, only to find out that they had meat to tell me yes­ter­day to go to urgent care. Nice. It is a good thing I love my doc­tor (who is cur­rently out on pater­nity leave! Woot, Dr. Rath­bun!). At this point, all psy­chotic hell broke loose — tears, hyper­ven­ti­lat­ing, etc. Sven came to be with me at urgent care, and it turns out that I have… drum­roll, please … mas­ti­tis. Antibi­otics and lots of sketch­ing on my boob to gauge progress or reces­sion of infec­tion and I am done. D gets to wield the pen. Fun. Now, in the mean time, I plan to do silly things like see Borat to keep me from think­ing about the chances that it is really inflam­ma­tory breast can­cer. Yeah, I know it is rare, but I am a pro­fes­sional wor­rier. Any­thing (bad) can hap­pen. That’s my motto. (Not really.)

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