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Vintage! Entry from the cutting-room floor: November 12, 2008 No gum, says the dentist, but he doesn't know that it settles my stomach and soothes my mouth! Half a stick, man, I just need half a stick. That's okay, isn't it? Lingering, decades-old TMJ problems and evidence of teeth-grinding. It is obvious and apparent from the appearance of my fingernails and the flatness of my molars how I react to stress. Once upon a time I swear to Christ Almighty I had a bite plate. What in the sam hell ever became of that thing? Is it in a landfill somewhere, waiting for thirty-ninth century robo-archeologists to unearth it and reconstruct the proto-beast that it must have come from? Is it in some orphan-child's mouth right this very minute, trying its darnedest to fit the patterns of someone else's teeth? Did it only ever exist as unfounded and illogical synapse firings, the pipedream of some fanciful girl who'd had too much orthodontic work? The potential of my insanity is immense. My favorite part of life right now is when I'm just about asleep, when my brain is going 85 mph and my mind is still awake enough to almost be paying attention to what's happening. I have the strangest thoughts.
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