Drug me up and climb on me dirty old man and yank that shit out.

My physical misery should end tomorrow with the damn cracked wisdom tooth pulled out. I’ve had it done before. The oral surgeon shoots me up with Novocain, grabs a pair of plyers, straddles my chests, grips the tooth, and wiggles it out of my mouth. It makes squeaky sounds like a nail coming out of a wet piece of wood. Doesn’t hurt a bit. Feels weird. Happens fast. And the recovery is quick.

Since finding out more than a week ago my face has gone through a bit of hell. Mostly I haven’t had much pain but there were two days when the pain has been so hellish I that the prescription Motrin didn’t help. I was stuck in a Cronenberg movie. My face was sensitive. My right ear hurt. My tongue broke out in bumps. I felt like pulling all my teeth out. Saliva built up, making me spit constantly. One night I barely slept and suffered dirty looks from the cats. At 42 I’m not made for all nighters. Not like in my late teens and early 20s when I used to work in film.

So yeah. Tomorrow should be grand. Drug me up and climb on me dirty old man and yank that shit out. After this I should only have two wisdom teeth left. Both still have fillings and are holding strong. But one day…

And through the pain I continued on through my editing and revising of Hacker’s Moon (Miki Radicci 11). If on schedule I should be done this Tuesday and send it off to a beta reader/editor friend who let me know in a few months.

The rest of the week I can spend revising two short stories for two markets that wanted me to resubmit revisions. Hopefully I can meet their expectations for the scratch. They weren’t unreasonable so I believe I can.

With deepest sympathies,


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