My neighbor gave me a rye bread a couple of days ago, which is a long story in itself. It sat in my kitchen for awhile and I had no intention of eating it. I took it with me when I went to visit my father in rehab. As I passed the banks of the Mystic River I saw some Canadian geese. So I rolled down that window and sent that fucking rye bread flying through the air. It landed perfectly mid-gaggle after caroming off a snow bank. It made me happier than any rye bread has a right to.
In an attempt to drown the anxiety that has me grinding my teeth and yelling in my sleep, I picked up some Pilsner Urquell beer. I'm sipping some now, and I'll report back later if it works. If history is any guide, it won't really do much to help, but it will make me sleepy. Every once in a while I return to alcohol with renewed hope. I'm an idiot.
2 comments:
I've ground my teeth every night for nigh on 30 years. My molars are flat and useless like a mastadon, my jaw is sore almost every morning, and I've chipped more teeth than I have to chip. I feel your pain.
Misery loves company, or at least takes some comfort in it.
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