Holy shit. It feels like someone is using a potato peeler to drill into my jaw.
I am awake and in excrutiating pain. I think it's my wisdom tooth.
Still awake, in pain. Four Anadin tablets.
Yep. More awakeness. More Anadin.
I am up. I am getting ready for work.
On the Jubilee Line and reminded of the line from the Sound of Music.
Something like, when God opens a window, somewhere he closes a door. Particularly one right in your face...
We are coming into Swiss Cottage station and the train slows suddenly.
I am standing in the area where the inter-leading carriage door is. It swings open and smacks me in the face.
My face and hands are full of blood.
Today really is going to be a Good Day.
So dearest, how was your day?
I went to work on about an hour's sleep.
One of wisdom teeth is infected
I got smacked in the face with a door on the Tube
The lady at the dentists plunged an injection into my gum
I have brushed my teeth about 17 times
Oh yeah, and I had to sit at my desk covered in blood.
Okay, so it's not quite the Passion of the Christ but still...
I want to carry on but I cannot concentrate. I cannot sit and watch the TV. I cannot read because my mouth is so fucking sore.
I have taken 2 Panadol Extra and they don't help. My hands are warm and my neck is relaxed. The pain in my mouth continues.
Sometime this morning, in the small hours I will wake up screaming and short of breath. That is when the pain is at its worst.
I don't know why the dentist never put me on antibiotics? I am going to go tomorrow and demand them.
And stronger painkillers too.
Why are the highs getting ever higher and the low getting so low they're practically only reachable by a turbo-charged elevator downwards.
To the person who's job it is in heaven to keep an eye out for Bob the Cox - please can we have it a little more steady? Like, less on the fucking accelerator and a little more on the brake.
One day we're dreaming of dates with hot Frenchies.
The next we're wearing sunglasses to hide our tears on the Central Line.
One day we're excited to see the stomach we always wanted in the mirror.
The next we're sitting in a pub in Kilburn necking bloody beer.
One day we find ourselves in a state of undress with an officer of the law who is more Captain Hulk than Keystone cop.
The next we're writhing in pain, necking paracetamol that isn't even 2.8% strong enough.
My life is like being stuck in the back of a car with a fucking learner driver.
One minute we're bunny-hopping and stalling at the traffic lights, the next we're doing 140 along the motorway with the top down.
Does having an event-free and easy life mean you're a boring person who everyone describes as crashingly dull?
Maybe one should stick with fast-slow-up-down-fucking-full-speed-no-speed...
I only say this because I've dropped another Panadol and everything is warm now
In a few hours I will wake up with shivers from the pain.
Take me away from this fucking crap already.