stillsostrange

I'm alive, and mostly conscious. I don't think my tooth has been replaced by a false on full of poison gas. But I can hope. Most importantly, I don't have a tooth disintegrating in my mouth any more, trying to take my maxilla with it.

At least this dentist warned me before I went under that I'd have to go back to get stitches removed. The first time I had my wisdom teeth out, no one mentioned that I'd be packed full of bloody gauze, which would later have to be removed. I'm wearing something like an Invisalign tray with a fake tooth in, which luckily prevents me from poking around the extraction site with my tongue, not to mention lessens the risk of harming myself with pudding.

As always happens with me and Vicodin, I have moments of clarity where I think I should be writing. Then I wake up in a puddle of drool and strange dreams twenty minutes later. We'll see which state wins.