More or less.R slept late today, until 11:00, and woke up grouchy because she is not feeling well. But before I went to the dentist at 12:30, I was going to call the doctor for her. Why do I call the doctor for a grown person? Hmm. Well, in part because this is the ear specialist's office and boy do they know me there. I talked to my doctor's assistant, explained R's situation, etc. etc. and she said she could squeeze her in for 2:30. Which I guess is why I called; the woman knows me and I knew she would make something happen. But R didn't want to go today, she wanted to go tomorrow, and was all pissy but then said she would go. And gave me attitude.
I was annoyed, but I knew it was because she was tired and not feeling great, and by the time I left for the dentist she was a bit better. I got in the car a few minutes past twelve; I had left the radio on (and not an audiobook) and the classic rock station was playing its noon Beatles-block, a new feature since the demise of the oldies station a few weeks ago. The song that was playing as I turned on the car was I Will.
Who knows how long I've loved you
You know I love you still
Will I wait a lonely lifetime
If you want me to--I will.For if I ever saw you
I didn't catch your name
But it never really mattered
I will always feel the same.
Love you forever and forever
Love you with all my heart
Love you whenever we're together
Love you when we're apart.
And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you to me
You know I will
I will.
It's is R's song. She was preceded by the White Album by several years, of course, but the first time I heard this song after she was born I knew at once that it was about her. It was exactly the way I felt, as if this person had always existed and always would, and I had always loved her and always would, and I had just been waiting for her to be born so I could finally meet her.
By the time the song ended, I was happy and crying. It's still true. That when we have our children, their songs will fill our air, and we want them to keep singing so we can hear them, and we want them to make it easy for us to stay near them. For the things they do endear them to us.
Ah.
And then I went to the dentist.
For one, my mouth has never been so numb ("A good batch of novocaine!" said he). And now it's irritating me all day, because the temporary crown is a little rough-surfaced the first day or two, and it's chewing up my tongue and eating is torture. (Although I haven't overeaten today, between the numb and the tongue, so there's the silver lining.) But I didn't come to talk about the numb. I came to talk about the gas.
Yes, I am a wuss who gets nitrous oxide so that I can stand the novocaine shot. There are only two medical procedures that freak me the hell out; one of them is getting an I.V. inserted in the veins at my wrist and the other is getting a novocaine shot at the dentist. I would get the gas for the I.V. too, if I could.
I have not been stoned, as such, in a great long time, so getting gas at the dentist is as close as I ever get. And so, it is an experience I greatly enjoy. And so, he will leave the gas on for the drilling, too, although I don't really need it by then, because I am numb. I am fascinated by the whole experience, and each time I have it, I go through a series of thoughts that I am sure are exactly the same each time. That is to say, while I am under the gas, I am certain that every single thought passing slowly through my head is exactly what I was thinking about the last time I was under. It's a curious thing. I wonder, among other things, if I look like a drooling idiot to the dentist and his assistant. If, when he just asked me to open wider, it took me several minutes to respond and do it. If I make the same lame jokes. So, while I'm certain that I'm repeating a pattern of "gas" behavior, I'm thinking about whether or not I thought this particular thing before; I'm questioning it as I go. It's so bizarre.
But today, as I was going through my usual litany of gas-thoughts, I started thinking about writing about it in the diary tonight, and after a few minutes of that, it hit me "Whoa. I never thought about that before under the gas, writing a diary entry ... whoa."
Okay, guess you had to be there, or had to be me there. But I had to write about it. I had to.
A few hours ago it got really dark and then there was hail and the warning on TV said we might have 60 mph winds, which fortunately we did not get. Then about a half hour ago everything was sunny and bright and lovely out, although still pretty muggy. And now it's getting dark again. I'd like to go pick up a few things at the supermarket, but I'd also prefer not to get caught in a storm. Ah, visit scenic New Jersey in the summer.
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I'm watching Seinfeld
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