On a scale of one to God-dammit! toothache is 11.

My work avoidance strategy for the next 3 days or so was to purchase catch-22 and re-read them backwards. Ok, maybe not backwards but re-read them aloud to my toes. Yossarian better make this worthwhile again. I foresee crazy stockpiling of strepsils and lozenges. And I’m only at preface.

On another note, the throbbing pain on my gums give me the urge to slit my wrist with a spoon, scoop out my veins and slurp it down like I would pasta. Sadist, I am. It.hurts.that.bad. (For all the times I overindulge in sweets and it’s-too-late-at-night-and-too-tired-to-brush-my-teeth excuses, I’m paying for it now.)

The only anesthetically effect I get these days is the fact that I don’t see you as often as I did. It’s the little things as such that makes life worth living all over again.