Throb, throb, thump, thump, twinge…ow, damn! Rinse. Spit. Repeat. Sigh. Kick off covers, shove cats and dogs to the side as quietly as possible, get out of bed. No, it’s not a failed love-making session. It’s my teeth. They ache. We both had major dental work done today. He is out cold, meds working fine. I am awake, painfully aware that my teeth are throbbing just enough to toll through my head like a dirge. Since taking more meds is not advisable, I am here, airing grumpiness at you in an attempt to cheer myself up and forget my thumping teeth.
Blame it on the drill. Everything went well and the dentist gave me a CD player with headphones to wear during the drilling. But I had to keep the music soft enough to hear him if he spoke to me. As the drilling continued – “Just a bit more.” – Twang! – “Oh, yes, cracked teeth are very sensitive, hang on.” – I nudged the volume up. That’s when I actually heard the music they had kindly offered me.
“All the sinners shall fall down, and we march upon their souls. Oh, praise the righteousness of God, and beat the holy drum…” Well, something like that, anyway. It was set on Repeat. I’m a trained singer with a neat little quirk: I can hear a song once and begin singing along with it before it ends. It’s also a writing quirk: I speak lines along with movies and TV episodes I’ve never seen and get it right. I’m not psychic (although some would argue that; I’m just an energy-worker). It’s just that when you write and sing all your life, you know how most melodies and phrasings of words will go together. I may have the lyrics slightly skewed in this case – that drill was hard to drown out.
I used to be Catholic, am sorta Christian (The sweetest compliment I ever got was from a dear friend – a Christian who is everything a Christian should be – he said, “You’re a Christian Witch, how cool is that?” I love you, John!), and I have eclectic tastes in music. But please don’t bombard me with martial religious music when you are hurting me. I might retaliate and flog you with my purse. As any man knows, a woman’s purse is a lethal weapon – it weighs a ton, has sharp pointy things sticking out of it (because the zipper’s broken), and strange lotions in tubes that never stay closed, thus dripping odious fumes everywhere.
Anyway, I have a point here. You do? Shut up, girls. It’s 4 am, you can’t sleep, why aren’t you writing about US? The characters from my manuscript are alive and kicking. They fuss at me if I don’t work on my manuscript for a couple of days. Ignore them, please…I’m trying to. Dontcha love when they are so alive in your head that they become real? Nah, me either…
WordPress advised me to find a Focus for my Blog. Yeah, right, the only time I focus is when ordered to – Ballet recital. “Focus, Eileen,” our dance instructor growled at me. I did, gave an impeccable performance, found out later I had a temp of 104, was in bed for all of Christmas break with pneumonia, never went back to ballet class… “Focus, Eileen, and push!” Right, doc, pushed so hard, our newborn baby girl went flying off the table. Good catch there, midwife, you should sign with the Giants. Um, maybe focusing is NOT a good idea for me.
Gack, so, okay, I don’t have a point, maybe, sorta, kinda…I’m freeing the voices in my head tonight. The whine of that drill and lyrics of that doleful song are rampaging around; singing “Jingle Bells” will sometimes drive an endlessly looping song out of my head. It’s not working…
Oh, look! It’s that time! I can safely take more meds! Yay! G’night, all! 😀