On Tuesday, I had a dentist appointment. My dentist back in East Greenbush, with whom I had an appointment just before moving out to Dallas, had told me that I had a developing cavity I would need to have filled. The dentist here in Dallas saw the cavity on my X-rays, but said that it might be worse to fill it now than to live with it, especially since I might be able to keep it clean by flossing religiously (the dentist back in East Greenbush had said this was impossible). Also, the hygienist actually complimented my teeth, saying she couldn't remembering cleaning anyone's teeth that were already that clean. How often does that happen?
They did also tell me that I grind my teeth, and are trying to sell me a mouth guard to wear at night. I'm not even sure that the grinding happens at night (since they mentioned it, I've tried to be conscious of it, and have noticed that I do a surprising amount of subconscious teeth grinding while awake), and the mouth guard is really expensive, and I'd feel pretty silly wearing it to bed. I guess we'll see what happens.
Today I made an artichoke (just 1). I boiled it, and wasn't sure it would cook evenly since it seemed to float in the water on one side, but I guess 25 minutes was long enough that that didn't really matter.
Everclear burns nicely. (I burned a very small amount, in a terra cotta flower pot drainage tray so nothing else could ignite.)
I feel a little down. My apartment has gotten sort of messy, and I want it to be cleaned up, but I don't want to put forth the effort to do so. Also, the lack of local friends is kind of dragging. Good thing there's gaming with co-workers tomorrow and that I'm visiting Ratha next weekend. My sister is coming out two weekends after that, also; and theoretically I'm going to see Priya some time...
Work has basically stabilized. I get done what I need to get done, though there are certainly enough constraints, both internal and external, to keep me from moving forward like a speeding bullet.
Even though it's a very high priority in my internal mental dialogue, I've also felt almost allergic to writing lately—as if even starting to write anything will futilely suck me in to hours of work that produce nothing useful. This journal entry, however, has taken 13 minutes. So, I know this attitude must be unrealistic. I just need to figure out how to break through it.
Last weekend (I think? maybe it was two weekends ago) I went to a gun show. I was tempted to buy a teeny 9mm pistol (there were some Kel-Tecs that were pretty cheap, and some Kahrs that were a bit more expensive and otherwise pretty comparable but that I've been told were more reliable) but I held off and just bought some ammo and cleaning equipment. After that, Brett and I went shooting, where I rented a Kahr which I found to be quite decently controllable for a 9mm that can fit in my pocket, and then we went back to his house where there was a dinner party of sorts—just me, Brett, Brett's wife, and one co-worker from Carlson Capital and her boyfriend. They grilled vegetables, and there was white chocolate jalapeno mousse, which Brett had special ordered for his birthday since the restaurant had stopped making it. They must have given him a gallon of it, in which we were barely able to make a dent.
If you haven't seen The Butterfly Effect, you should consider it. Might just be my penchant for psychotomimetic movies, though. I greatly preferred the Hollywood ending to the director's cut, incidentally.