Last week my teeth fell out. Not all of them — just the ones on the left side of my lower jaw. And they didn’t really fall out. They just came loose in their gum casings like a suction force had been broken. I tried to hold them in place like rocks pushed awkwardly into a long trough, but every time I moved my mouth they clunked and crushed against each other, trying to chew themselves to pieces.
It was ridiculously upsetting, but they’re teeth — impermanent little buggers that are dependent on their foundations to stay in place, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it once they were out of their holes. What bothered me even more was that the whole thing mirrored such a classic dream image. I actually paused to consider whether this horrifying experience might really be a dream, but then quickly dismissed that as wishful distraction. I needed to focus on the problem, not escape from it. So I just vented to everyone around me that it really really sucked that this wasn’t a dream. They agreed and kept doting on me, frantic.
I dug through my iPhone to look up my dentist, but I have a new dentist, and I couldn’t remember his name. So I just scanned through all the names in the address book as quickly as I could trying to recognize one as him, but none were right. It was the middle of the night, anyway. I’d have to wait until morning.
A little while later, I was halfway to the bathroom when I realized I’d just woken up. Which meant I’d just been asleep. Which meant I’d either fallen asleep with my broken teeth or I had been dreaming the tooth crisis all along. My money was on the former, but I checked my mouth anyway and my teeth were just fine, roots and all.
I was more disoriented than relieved.
Today was weirder. Read the rest of this entry »