2026: Saturday November 14: It's not just my teeth, I fear

I have been trying for years to get someone to explain to me why I have an intermittent stabbing pain in my upper gums. For the longest time I suspected my wisdom teeth were on a slow but brutal journey to impaction or eruption, but all the dental professionals I consulted were dubious and instead diagnosed root canal issues, leading to significant work. In the meantime, my TMJ stopped functioning, requiring years of gentle adjustment that eventually made opening my mouth possible again, but which will never get things back to the way they were. My bite is off significantly. My jaw is lopsided, such that I now have a "better" side for photos. And apparently I grind my teeth like crazy because this year I cracked a crown and I'm in the middle of getting it replaced. 

A very pretty leaf in the rain. 

Recently I had a realization that shouldn't be a realization, something so obvious you'll agree that we all should have figured it out sooner (and maybe you did, but you were too polite to tell me) - perhaps all these things might be connected? Perhaps, on top of not flossing enough in my youth and the general wear and tear of 60 odd years, I have hidden stress living in my body and, although I'm an extremely functional person, I hold myself too tight, and have ground myself into disrepair. What could be the cause? Childhood trauma of parental loss? Second parental loss? Leaving all my family and moving to another country? A divorce? Losing my career and rebuilding? Living in a world that's on fire? Fear that we'll miscalculate whether we have enough money saved to leave Binghamton and thus end up destitute? Teaching prep? Really, what do I, with my warm house and full refrigerator, have to be stressed about?

The first snow of the season melted quickly.

This week I wondered aloud "What would happen if I stopped writing lists?" As in, maybe the lists don't relieve stress, instead they cause it? Such a small question, but also a big one, about control. "Lists!? Have you heard of therapy?" I hear you asking. Yes, yes, but how do you even start to decide if a particular therapist is any good? I'm very judgmental (you might have noticed), and I would be judging my therapist so hard, you have no idea. (or maybe you do). I have had a couple of small encounters with therapists and they've all been wet noodles. Where are the smart ones with spines? And what hell will they drag me though before I'm "better?" No, I'm not quite there yet.

Doll's head and my shoes on the sidewalk.

For now I'm recommitting to not skipping shavasana at the end of yoga and I'm putting a hot water bottle on my jaw at night and I'm just breathing my way through it all and I'm trying to see the beauty of everything, as evidenced by the photos from recent walks that I'm scattering through this rant.

Ida likes to make nests on the hot water bottles. The one with the cover knitted by Ingrid is her clear favorite.


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