I'm Not There, wisdom tooth

The end of the ordeal…

Well, I finally made it to the dentist today. Did you know that having a tooth-sized crater in the back of your mouth is less painful than having an impacted wisdom tooth? It’s true.

Here’s me begging again. If “I’m Not There” is playing in a theater near you, please go see it. Will it be showing in a theater near me in the boonies any time soon? Only if you city folk make Harvey Weinstein tons of money in ticket sales first.

UPDATE:

“I’m Not There” will be showing in a theater near me starting December 7!!!
http://www.railroadsquarecinema.com/

I'm Not There, Mike Lowell, NaNoWriMo, Red Sox, wisdom tooth, writing

Stuff and junk and more stuff.

Well, it happened on Sunday: I hit 50969 words! Naturally I’m not even close to being done with the novel. I know that Mr. Chris Baty’s No Plot, No Problem recommends that words 49,999/50,000 should be, “The End,” but Verbosity is my middle name.

Mike Lowell Update: Three more years with the Red Sox! You were right, Rob. Sorry I doubted you.

Tooth update: Still hurts like hell.

Hubby update: He made it back to work this morning after 7 weeks of recuperation. He says that from now on he’s going to don a HazMat suit before clearing brush. You all should, too.

Favor time: If your local theater is showing I’m Not There, please go see it. Then come back here and tell me all about it. Looks like I’m going to have to wait until it’s out on DVD, since I live in the boonies.

[Shameless Plug] Click the link over yonder to the right to read a few excerpts from this year’s NaNoNovel, The Wendy House, at my NaNo profile page. (Rated R for language and junk.) Click the other link to read the prologue from my recently completed (not yet published) novel, Waiting For Spring. (Rated…oh, I’d say PG or PG-13.) [/Shameless Plug]

agony, folk songs, Hamlet, NaNoWriMo, pain, wisdom tooth

Why, yes. I am Irish.

I’ve got an impacted wisdom tooth. Well, let me clarify. It’s been impacted for several years–a “soft tissue” impaction, where the top part of the tooth pokes out back yonder, but the rest doesn’t bother to make an appearance. Apparently it thinks the world is a cruel, cruel place and feels much safer nestled in the nether regions of my gums.

Most of the time my wisdom tooth just sits there, quietly hiding, not much more than a slight nuisance. But every so often it kicks up its heels to really make its presence known; kind of like a drunk uncle at a family reunion. And yesterday it stuck the proverbial lampshade on its head and stood up to sing the chorus of “Go On Home British Soldiers.” My cheek is sore and swollen, my ear and head are pounding, and I’m beginning to sing the chorus of holy shit, I wish this pain would Go On Home.

Naturally you’re wondering, “Kel. Why have you not been to a dentist to have the offending tooth removed by now?” Aye, there’s the rub. There are three things in life I fear above all else.

1.) Flying (or, rather, being a passenger aboard an airplane, since I don’t actually fly.)
2.) Donald Trump’s hair.
3.) Dentist bills.

Normally I would sit here in agony, moaning and cursing and singing bitter parodies of bitter Irish folk songs. Fortuanately I’m in the middle of NaNoWriMo, so I can channel that agony into my book. I have the feeling my characters are going to be doing a great deal of moaning and cursing for the next few days. Someone might slay a dentist. Or shave Donald Trump’s head. The singing of folk songs will largely depend on how my word count is faring.

agony, folk songs, Hamlet, NaNoWriMo, pain, wisdom tooth

Why, yes. I am Irish.

I’ve got an impacted wisdom tooth. Well, let me clarify. It’s been impacted for several years–a “soft tissue” impaction, where the top part of the tooth pokes out back yonder, but the rest doesn’t bother to make an appearance. Apparently it thinks the world is a cruel, cruel place and feels much safer nestled in the nether regions of my gums.

Most of the time my wisdom tooth just sits there, quietly hiding, not much more than a slight nuisance. But every so often it kicks up its heels to really make its presence known; kind of like a drunk uncle at a family reunion. And yesterday it stuck the proverbial lampshade on its head and stood up to sing the chorus of “Go On Home British Soldiers.” My cheek is sore and swollen, my ear and head are pounding, and I’m beginning to sing the chorus of holy shit, I wish this pain would Go On Home.

Naturally you’re wondering, “Kel. Why have you not been to a dentist to have the offending tooth removed by now?” Aye, there’s the rub. There are three things in life I fear above all else.

1.) Flying (or, rather, being a passenger aboard an airplane, since I don’t actually fly.)
2.) Donald Trump’s hair.
3.) Dentist bills.

Normally I would sit here in agony, moaning and cursing and singing bitter parodies of bitter Irish folk songs. Fortuanately I’m in the middle of NaNoWriMo, so I can channel that agony into my book. I have the feeling my characters are going to be doing a great deal of moaning and cursing for the next few days. Someone might slay a dentist. Or shave Donald Trump’s head. The singing of folk songs will largely depend on how my word count is faring.