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Have you ever found that moment you find yourself pondering a million things at once, insinuating a thousand more and trying to make sense of it all? Let's just say I've had a multifarious amount of those. Even on the pie graph of all of those binary instances, only a fraction of a slice can be diverted to dentist offices. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against the secretary who holds permanent domain over the thermometer to accommodate her sequacious temperature continuity. The room isn't too cold; I just can't feel my fingers. Never would I think her nails to be too ostentatious for her age or her teeth too white to not show the benefits of just sitting there behind the wall. I wouldn't complain about the lack of clocks! Only train stations have more than one clock with every ten degree rotation of your head and airports just leave the time-telling to a small corner on the scattered digital "departures and arrivals" screens. I wouldn't notice the unfinished game of checkers or the framed laminated posters of dancing teeth with a tooth brush leading the line with a smile. I would avoid thinking about how many people have stepped through that door feeling the same way I do. The trivial shouldn't take up that much time when it comes to thought. If the nurse says my name wrong, just like all the substitute teachers in my life, I would overlook it. A stranger shouldn't be expected to pontificate my quotidian name without error to the checklist given. I try not to think about what all I had eaten in last week when I find myself laying back in that cold, adjustable chair. I do remember how long it took for me to abolish the remains of my last meal in the hopes to brush away enough plaque to make up for the lack of routine all week and hide it from the dentists' attention. I do think soda is a torture device meant for those, like me, who don't indulge in it often while Captain Crunch removes what skin you have left of the roof of your mouth. Then there is the moment my slipping features become assaulted with questions! I like to answer questions to the utmost extent. A simple yes or no does not suffice under most circumstances. Yet they persist to intrude on my personal life. I only see the dentist 4 times a year! How can you expect the relationship between half-brained patient and chatty-pants doctor to advance to a "not so awkward" level? Is there some sort of switch where the unfamiliar and awkward becomes acceptable and integrated into our genetically encoded category of "just the normal inconvenience?" I try not to think of what I would say if that dentist decided to ask that pivotal question. Because if he asked how my day was, I would tell him about the ancient relic behind the wall dominating the temperature controls that held a vendetta against warm fingers and toes; I would bring light upon the problematic lack of clocks in the waiting room; I would tell him how the red disk held no chance against the assault of the black and the game might as well been forfeit because he was blocked in; I would warn him to take precautions when he drinks his carbonic acid laced soda and when he eats his serrated edged Captain Crunch cereal; I would most of all explain to him that if he is to even hint at his interest in my day as a means of breaking the invisible boundaries we keep, than he shouldn't ask questions that involve me moving my slipping features and numb tongue because nothing more than gibberish will leak from the corners of my mouth!! Lets just say going to the dentists office is a bundle-o-fun. I constantly find myself figuring out what kind of humor can I find this time around. I constantly wonder what could be worse here and what could be better there?
The binary is not subjective to interpretation it seems. Neither are dentists.