jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I ate toooo much pasta. Too much. I knew I should stop, and yet I did not. I ate a bowl of pasta and was full. So I went back and got more. Then I laid on the couch and suffered. As soon as the crisis passed I ate a bowl of ice cream. And now I suffer yet again.

Okay, I’ve just popped some more codeine, as Damon came home and said: Your face is all swollen! I know that hurts, take a freakin’ pain killer already.

But I’m going to see if I can get in an update before it kicks in. If this drifts into incoherence, you will know why.

Damon has just been reminding me of all the things I said while under the influence, none of which I remember. Apparently the doctor was laughing because he said I asked questions pretty much non-stop, even after I was sedated. And then Damon says I told him about four different times on the drive home that my Dad recovered from his surgery so fast that his nurses were just amazed and how the Segers are all really good healers. I remember nothing after the needle went into my arm until I woke up in my bed as the anesthetic wore off.

So anyway, sorry to derail off into my teeth. They’re sort of defining my life right now. That and that someone seems to be cooking garlic bread nearby and it smells amazing.

Anyway, I’ve neglected my bottom-of-the-page book log but I’m getting back on the horse. I finished The Screwtape Letters. In the following days I tackled one book that I did my obligatory 50 pages and then dropped, because it just wasn’t for me. Some mystery with a title that read something like ‘The Snake, The Crocodile and the Dog.” Next up was Christopher Moore’s Dirty Jobs. Moore is one of my Dad’s favorite writers and I was so excited to see he had a new book and was coming to New York to promote it. So Damon and I went to Chelsea to see him. He gave a very engaging talk and then spent some time chatting with all of us. I got to tell him all about Dad and he signed a book to him, “Dear Jim, Keep this one, she’s read it. Your pal, Christopher Moore.” I’d told him that my Dad sent me all his books. But I had my own copy, which I got signed as well. I plead medication on the sloppiness of those sentences, by the way. I noticed curtholman mentioned the book and that it had bascially the same plot as A Pale Horse. It’s true, the basic concept is more or less the same. But the approach is terribly different. I don’t think the Moore book was total genius, but it’s definitely a fun read.

After I finished that I reread The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. I don’t really know what to say about that one, I haven’t quite worked it out in my head. Now I’ve moved on to The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I’ve seen the movie, but I’m finding the book charming. I’m a sucker for English moors, spooky mansions, independent you girls… Ask me how many times I’ve read Jane Eyre. Actually, I can’t tell you. But that sort of makes the point right there.

Before I close, let me tell you about the play we saw Thursday night. And yes, I’m going to mention my teeth again. Because it’s such a testament to how wonderful this show was that it was 2 1/2 hours long, and had two intermissions and one two-minute blackout; and I had to spend the whole evening with a smuggled in can of ginger ale pressed against my face in an attempt to dull what was by now pretty bad pain. If the play had been less than so so great, I would definitely have given up and gone home where I knew painkillers were waiting.

The play was Awake and Sing by Clifford Odets. It had a celeb-packed ensemble, which makes me a little bit nervous because I always view that as stunt casting rather than hiring really good stage actors. But most of them had theater creds. It was Ben Gazzra, Zoe Wannamaker (Madame Hooch!), Pablo Schrieber, Mark Ruffalo, Lauren Ambroze and two guys whose names I can’t remember. And there was a dog, which is always a good thing. The show is set in 1935 and is rich with dialogue that would put, I think, most actors to the test. But they were so good. The nut of the story is that a once-prosperous family is dissolving under financial and social pressure. Not so glamorous, but they really did such a beautiful job. Lauren Ambrose was the weak link for sure as she couldn’t quite sell the dialogue. I think she’s a good actress, just too modern. She was so great physically and reactively. But the others made it sound like this was the only way anyone ever talks and it was thrilling to watch. I’d like to give you something more cogent, but I think I’m just about out of steam. So if you’re coming to New York any time soon, Damon and I both recommend putting this show at the top of your list.

I’ve read good books, seen one wonderful play, cooked some good meals, met with various friends, but I think I will have to start with the toothache.

I’ve always been sort of proud to have my appendix, tonsils and wisdom teeth. One wisdom tooth (bottom left) has always been a bit of a rogue, giving me the occasional hard time. This time the hard times just weren’t ending. By Thursday night I was icing my jaw and popping codeine left over from I don’t even know what. I felt like my jaw was breaking. So Friday morning I made a pathetic, begging phone call to a dentist around the corner and she agreed to let me walk in. Damon called my insurance company to have them switch my coverage, and it they faxed my paperwork over to the new office. So we’re firing on all cylinders.

Here’s where I send out a shout out to Judith, the receptionist. Most doctors’ receptionists have seen in all and aren’t impressed by much. But she took one look at my puffy, unhappy face and she said, “Here baby, you come on back here and I’m going to get you right on in.” I love Judith.

So they take a few x-rays of the left side of my face and then pop me in the dentist chair. Doctor Polanco came on in (her sandals were so great) and said, “I need to see your x-rays to know what’s going on, but let’s take a look in the meantime. I opened up as far as I could. She looked inside with her little light and said, “Nope! I don’t actually need to see your x-rays. You need that tooth out and you need it out right now.” So calls were placed to an oral surgeon and I was bustled off to see Dr. Su in Riverside.

Dr. Su took a look and said, “You must be in a lot of pain” which actually got a little laugh out of me. He went on to explain that at my advanced, decrepit age it was going to be much tougher but that I have no choice anyway. He also talked me into doing two teeth instead of one. At first he wanted three and I held the line at just the one that hurt. But his description of how the top wisdom tooth would push food into the wound from the lower tooth put me way over the edge. So we comprimised with two teeth out.

He argued that recovery is recovery and I might as well go for three (my fourth wisdom tooth is comfortably in and causing no trouble). I felt there were flaws in that argument and the recovery period has proved me correct. The fact that the right side of my mouth is still functional has meant a great deal to me over the past day or so.

So anyway, Dr. Su popped in an IV and said, “The pain you’re having is going to be gone for good in a matter of minutes. Now, you’re going to have some pretty substantial recovery pain, but that’s different.” Yes, it is different. Because the toothache itself, while truly miserable, did not cause me to lay on the bathroom floor and cry, which is where I found myself later that afternoon when the anesthesia fully wore off but before Rite Aid was finished filling my codeine presription. Smart girl that I am, I insisted on codeine rather than Demerol because I wanted to stay at least semi-lucid. So it took a while to kick in and that was an unhappy hour.

Damon, traumatized by my weeping and spitting out blood, dutifully woke me up every four hours to give me two more codeine in the hope of never seeing that again. That paid off in the short term, but did lead to a full day of vomiting for me today, as I was loaded up with painkillers but hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink in about 30 hours. That, turns out, is a bad combination.

The post-op recovery has had something to recommend it in that I’ve slept and slept and slept. The five hours or so I’ve been awake tonight is the longest I’ve gone by a wide margin.

Here’s an additional disaster component to this surprise surgery: I doubt I’ll be able to get out tomorrow and I think that’s my last chance to go see David Blaine in the bubble at Lincoln Center.

I’ve been re-thinking my Friends-only policy (although you’ll still see the little lock on this entry.). I am reminded of the charms of the “random” button by the fact that after reading her journal for in the neighborhood of a year, WillowKitty and I actually have real-world connections.

I put all my posts behind the wall because people outside of LJ were hip to my journal and reading along. I can’t identify why this is a problem for me, but it makes me uncomfortable. Maybe because I don’t think that people who don’t offer up the same should get to benefit from what we all do here. Even friends I love.

But by making everything inaccessible I feel like I’m not fully participating in this community. Of course, I don’t know that one single person would doesn’t have another context for me would ever care to read this thing. But it’s still the principle.

I’m curious, if anyone is willing to share, how other people make this decision.

My DVD player seems to be broken. This is terrible. It’s a tragedy. I’m torn between hitting Consumer Reports, researching the best price for the best model and then (most likely) buying online and waiting for the delivery OR I could walk down the street to the local electronics store and buy whatever they have on the shelf. I know everyone loves instant gratification (maybe with the exception of some monks) but I think I love it more. What to do?