I found a note in a book today. It said THEY BROKE MY TEETH, and then there were six names.
I remember writing that. I had toothache, so bad I thought my head would split. It hurt all the way down my neck, and in my ear. I’d have gone to the dentist, but I had no money, so I settled for naming my killers. Had I died, I mean. You can, you know—die of toothache. You can get an abscess, and it can go in your brain, and that’s the end of you. Or you can get meningitis. You can die.
I didn’t, of course. Die, I mean. I waited and suffered, and my toothache went away. And I was reading Black Swan Green, and I used my murder note as a bookmark.
Hey, there’s some old guy across the street, using his walker as a chair. It’s got a canvas sling in it, so he can sit and rest. There’s a wee patch of lawn, and he’s sitting and reading. Oh, and now he’s getting up, and going in to play some billiards. (I might’ve stared a while, between those last two sentences.)
Still, a walker you can sit on. That’s a good idea. I haven’t seen that before.
I’m going to get my teeth fixed, by the way. I was saving for a home, but I’ve got that now. Two more years, and I can earn a full set of implants. Nobody’s murdering me through my teeth.
PS – I have a song stuck in my head. It’s “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”
I’m in love with you.
18 thoughts on “Murder?”
This is probably the most heartwarming song ever.
By the way, I’ve just discovered that the Great Eared Nightjar is a thing. It’s like a cross between a regular nightjar and an owl (and extra puffy).
It is a good one, isn’t it? Gives me all those fuzzy feelings, even when I’m not in love with anyone. It’s like I’m just in love, in general. Ha, ha.
That great-eared nightjar might make a nice wee blog sketch, at some point. I do love a good, puffy bird.
I know what you mean. I think you can cultivate it, that fuzzy disposition towards the world. At least, it happens automatically when you’re in a good mood.
All in favour of a great-eared nightjar sketch. Actually, any blog sketch. 🙂
I’ve been actively trying to cultivate it, these past few days, as I’ve been in a decidedly bad mood. But I’m hoping for good news to lift my spirits, before the weekend.
That’s a bummer. Wouldn’t have guessed it from the post (although that means you’re succeeding at the cultivation bit, at least somewhat).
Are they specific good news that you can depend on happening or general good news of any kind?
Specific good news, but not something I can depend upon. Sort of a 50/50 chance of great news or disappointing news. But I’m glad my lousy mood isn’t shining through. I hate to look as pissy as I feel.
As long as it’s not tied to politics I’d be optimistic (and hopefully nothing to do with health issues because that sucks to worry about more than anything). You’re welcome to vent about it if you feel like it (unless it’s too personal or sensitive).
It’s not personal or sensitive, in particular, but it is something I ought to be discreet about. A professional situation, sort of thing. These things do tend to work themselves out, but in this case, an unexpected opportunity is involved. I hate waiting. It’s so hard not to hope, and there is nothing worse than dashed hopes.
The common wisdom in these situations is to assume a pessimistic mindset in order to avoid disappointment. But like all “perfectly obvious” solutions it never really works.
Will hold fingers for your success (and maybe anxiety shared is anxiety halved, who knows).
That does tend to be my approach, yes. Never dream, never be disappointed. (Except, it doesn’t so much work that way, does it?
Thanks for being in my corner, though. Nice to have somebody rooting for me.
You dream anyway because the subconscious is an annoying bugger that won’t listen. Or something like that (“Me Against My Brain” would be a good autobiography title, very succint).
Will always root for you, because —insert sentimental thing here—.
I am in a slightly similar situation, by the way, only without a definite deadline because I can’t decide what university course to switch to (the art school thing fell through because the school was kinda sucky and I ran out of money) . So right now I’m in a sort of limbo, trying to take it as a kind of vacation, but that, actually, takes effort.
Ha, probably already taken. So many people are locked in battle with their brains. Maybe all of us, at one time and another. I’ve been trying to just sleep through, but that’s of limited use.
What are your choices, course-wise? Me, I’d go for anything involving maths, words, or physics. Or biology. Maybe organic chemistry. Anything interesting, really. (An unhelpful observation.)
That’s the way I’m leaning myself (currently going through an interminable book on calculus). But I’m not sure what I’m actually good at (probably something linguistics related, but that’s a far less straightforward path). Also this time I would have to take the scholarship thing seriously (last time I chickened out of the bureaucratic process to much later regret). It’s a muddle.
Sometimes I just want to chuck everything and move to Russia, but living under Putin is no fun (last I’ve heard they’re intending to enact a wholsale separation from the international internet a la China).
Can’t blame you, shying away from Putin. I wouldn’t much care for life in Russia, either, much as I’m fond of the food and the literature and the architecture. Even the weather’s up my street, but being openly hated for dating the occasional lady doesn’t sound like fun. Not that I don’t get that here, but it’s far less socially acceptable in Canada. Far less frequent.
Maybe you should be one of those people who stays in academia all your life, studying merrily away till you nudge up from student to professor. Sort of a natural progression. I know people who’ve done that. Most of them seem pretty happy. I wouldn’t have minded being a professor, myself.
Ha ha… This is the first time someone told me they’re fond of Russian food. Usually people just say “isn’t it all just borshcht…?” with a slightly puzzled expression that indicates that beetroots are nothing to be excited over.
Staying in academia could be fun. It’s definitely something I consider as well. Right now it’s just very slow crunch time with uncertain future (sometimes I get out to the occasional party/wedding, once a month or two).
I actually like borshcht. Any sort of Eastern European cuisine, beetroot-based or not, and I’m in. As long as there’s no fish in it. I hate fish. Still, a nice bowl of borshcht, with a scoop of sour cream, oh, that’s nice. (Are you supposed to do that, put a bit of cream in it? I always just did. With a couple of Lactaid first, these days. Man, I’m getting old.)
I suppose the one thing worse than an uncertain future would be a certain future. Like with that zombie book I was talking about writing, where the old lady’s thinking how the rest of her life’s going to be the same. (I mean, obviously she’s wrong, in that case, but NOT being wrong would be the worst.)
Eating it with sour cream is actually the traditional thing to do. My grandparents would be proud of you (not of me because I do it only once in a while, my ideal borshcht is as garlicy as possible and sour cream drowns out the garlic).
The worst thing would be getting stuck in the same minimum wage job(s) forever and ever, which isn’t really THE worst, but it’s not very exciting (exactly like the old lady, we’re all quietly hoping for a zombie apocalypse (that’s not TOO apocalyptic) when caught in the doldrums, aren’t we?).
I have to go and get back to studying by the way (or at least the accpetable mix of 60‰ studying 40‰ procrastination). If that doesn’t sound too enviable, I have gooseberry tea (lots and lots of it).
The teeth story is awful and harrowing and makes me wish I could do something to make that better… Promise to love you no matter what (“nice” is an awful, lukewarm word anyway). ❤
You’re very kind. You know, most people won’t express affection so frankly, for fear of it being taken the wrong way. But I suppose we’ve been chatting long enough, by now, such an outcome would be unlikely. And you’re right. “Nice” is a shite word. One of those filler words. Shame on me, calling myself a writer.
I envy your gooseberry tea, by the way. We don’t have many gooseberry products here, which is a shame, as it’s one of my favourite flavours.
I suppose being stuck in a minimum wage job would vary in cruelty, depending on whom you’re stuck WITH. With pleasant co-workers, I think I could manage that. With awful ones, please, kill me immediately.
Don’t worry too much about my teeth, anyway. Twenty years, now—I’m accustomed to the sore mouth. I know how to eat, so I’ll notice it less. Come to think of which, I could fancy some soup. No borshcht, unfortunately.
Anyhow, enjoy your studying. Hope you settle on a course soon.
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