jaws II

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Teef part Two – it isn’t as if I think that dental work is always a good idea, anyway.  Got to add that rebel thought to my whimpering from yesterday.  I mean, yes, take care of your teeth, get check-ups, all that.  Just bring your critical faculties to bear on the professional opinion your dentist gives you.

I’m just a little sceptical – now – when a dentist tells me that something major needs taking care of.  What I mean, I never had any extensive scaffolding and building work done on my choppers, until the day came that my dentist told me I had a few little holes in my teeth that needed filling.

I’m not talking about conman dentists who do work on your teeth when they literally need nothing done.  That is a thing, and occasionally occurs – check out the odd newspaper report.  But what I mean is the difference between a dentist’s professional assessment – i.e. that there’s some damage to my dentition, and it needs action.  Versus my subjective experience of that fact – which then, was that I had no pain, no loss of function and no perceptible problems.

If I’d read at the time – instead of afterwards – that once a tooth gets drilled, it never has the same functional integrity again, then I might have thought twice.  (I know, it seems obvious.  Duh.)  But the guy had a white tunic and letters after his name, and I was a docile sheep.  A docile sheep with numerous fillings, when he was done.

I might also have said to him, that I barely eat any sugar, and my teeth had been in the same condition for years, and any caries was probably making barely perceptible progress, hardly changing from month to month and year to year.  I should have said that, and invited him to debate whether treatment was strictly necessary.  Woulda shoulda coulda, I blame myself rather than him.

Well, hindsight is a wonder, isn’t it.

Still, don’t listen to me.  Visit your dentist and do what s/he says.  None of this is to be construed as medical advice, no harm no sue, yada yada.  I know nothing, and these are merely the self-serving musings of someone who really doesn’t want to make a dental appointment!

Image – moonjazz, public domain.

 

how sharper than a serpent’s tooth…

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I don’t care what’s sharper.  It’s the tooth that counts.  I’ve got a tooth that needs looking at, after a filling fell out.  I think maybe it’s going to need a crown, and the very thought is an affliction and a scourge.  Damn it.

The thing is, it doesn’t hurt, not a bit.  Who can bring themselves to drag themselves to the dentist for extensive dental work, when nothing hurts?  It’s more than is reasonable to ask of mortal flesh.  Isn’t it?

Thing is, I’m pretty sure the filling fell out after I got fed up with trying to get a vitamin bottle open, and took my teeth to it.

And I’ve got at least three pre-existing chips elsewhere in my dental equipment, due to gnawing away at purse fasteners, bottle ring-pulls, pencils and whatnot.  You’d think the penny would drop the first time, that it’s generally not a good idea, wouldn’t you?

Wouldn’t you?

Teeth.  Huh, what are they good for.  They had the right idea in my gran’s day – whip ’em out and have some nice false choppers installed. Solid oak!

 

Omphalophobia, or science-fiction time-traveling bellybuttons.

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I’m writing a story – well, I’ve got two lines so far, at least – about science-fiction time-traveling bellybuttons.

(pause)

Yeah, and as I say… Well, look at it like this. I suffer from omphalophobia, let’s begin there. My name’s Alex, and I’m an omphalophobic.

It sounds like a sleepy mole coming grunting and blinking up out of a hole in the lawn. But that isn’t what it means, at all. What it means – to prove that I can make use of Google just as quick as anyone – is fear of bellybuttons. Yeah, it’s not made-up! (Well, it’s there on Google’s page of search results, anyhow. It’s on Wikipedia. That makes it a real thing, right?)

And I ought to know, because I’ve suffered from it most of my life. Not that I would have known what to call it. And I did not know that it was a thing, that other people experienced too! Thereby lending it validity and credibility, of course. I’m not just crazy, and liable to pull grossed-out faces and poke a finger at my navel in horror and disgust while getting out of the shower – shrieking at my partner all the while, about how come we can’t be cyborgs and get rid of this weird fleshy reminder of being mammals anyhow – because I’m nuts.

(I mean, it’s where the cord gets cut, and heals up. And what if it never heals up, not quite all the way? Then you’ve got, like, a little expressway into you, all septic and rotten and yuck, a highway to your innards...)

Wouldn’t it be nice to be a Ken or Barbie, and just have a smooth midriff with no yucky fleshy indent? Yeah, I know there would be other drawbacks…

So the thing about navels, they’re where the cord connected you to the mother, right? And, if you’re female and have kids, then you have kids branching off you – in the dimension of time – via the placental cord, connecting you to your kids via their navels too. Which makes them – and you – basically branches, or twigs, or tiny little leaves or budlets – through time, of a fleshy tree that exists chronologically, rather than spatially.

(This is why I’m calling the story ‘A Fleshy Tree Through Time’.)

And something about that thought is just damn weird.

In the story, I figure the heroine will be able to travel directly through time into the bodies of forebears or descendants. Via the POWER OF CASTLE BELLYBUTTON! Because she can see the Body of the Tree at a meta-level above time. Pseudo-chloroplasts or some other equivalent to plant organelles, in the whole Body, may be involved in the time-travelin’ process.

Look, I may not have this quite fleshed out and detailed, as far as process and world-building are concerned.  But I’m getting there!

Of course, men are excluded from the time-travelly process by definition: they’re dead-ends, evolutionary twigs that bear no fruiting buds or blossom. No childbirth = no placental cord = no more twigs. Useless, but pretty.

… Just sayin’.

We’re all just one big fleshy tree, and if we could get outside of time then we could see that. Root and bole and branch and twig, leaf and flower and fruit. All part of the same organism, just warring with itself.