It’s dental calamity day! In addition to my achy companion ‘the hard to pinpoint and fix’ toothache, my daring young man went mouth first into the arm of the couch. Padded arm? Thin padding, my friend. Net result, mouth full of blood, saliva, and half-chewed steak (because his acrobatics were a mid-meal enterprise) and 2 wobbly teeth. The bleeding was under control pretty quickly, and he was calmed down and enjoying some Little Einsteins within a half hour. If we’re lucky, he’ll wake up tomorrow with almost no after effects and neither of the teeth will turn grey and fall out. Here’s hoping.
Of course, the stress of dealing with the little dude’s unfortunate mishap has derailed any shreds of creative momentum that I may have had. I still have the heightened emotional state and I don’t think I can easily send it packing. I feel much like Max when he’s so tired that even picking a flavour of yogurt sends him into a wailing sadness of indecision. There’s a tiny pocket of guilt too. Not because I didn’t stop him from jumping (he moves quick like a spider monkey), but because part of me is glad that he finally had a negative consequence to his daredevil activities. He’s led a charmed life when it comes to his rash gymnastics, and the grumpy old man in my head thinks this’ll teach him to be more careful. Boo to you, imaginary old man. I want my pride and joy to be fit, healthy and happy.
On a technical note, today’s fiction chapter will be posted tomorrow when it will be hot off the presses (or so I tell myself). One other technical note: my laptop has several semi-broken keys, including the space bar. If you wonder why I use so many double spaces, wonder no more. Or buy me a new laptop.