The FORTRESS of SOLITUDE

Hey y'all! Ugh.

On March 9, 2006, I wrote my final exam for my first university course. Yippee! I think I did alright, but you never know - I'm still a little worried about the results. Fingers crossed.

Anyway, on March 1 (on paper) or March 10 (in reality), I began my second course, which is a full on university course worth 3 credits towards my degree. Part of this second course suggested that I start a writer's journal, which I did. Then I read the two entries and thought, they're just blog entries, so screw it, I'll post them on my normal blog. My normal blog which, as the dark-haired lady found out the hard way, doesn't get updated very often.

The two entries can be found here and here. I have to write about something for 10 minutes straight or until my eyes start to bleed - whichever happens first.

There was this dark-haired lady that once complained about my blog's lack of updates...

WARNING - Gross and disturbing story ahead.

A couple of years ago, I was at my dentist and she was fixing a cavity on one of my back molars, upper jaw. Unfortunately, the cavity extended below the gum-line, so she wrote me up a periodontal referral, and sent me on my way, asking that I schedule an appointment to have the tooth fixed with her shortly after my visit with the dental surgeon. I've never scheduled the appointment, nor have I visited with a dental surgeon.

Fast-forward to Christmas 2006 and I'm at my 'rents house in Sudbury. I notice a small, hard ball on my lower palate, right underneath my tongue. I thought nothing of it other than that it was immensely annoying. It wasn't painful and it wasn't worrying.

Fast-forward again to February and the ball had become a large(r), fluid-filled sac that I assume was a cyst. I didn't do much about it until today when I made an appointment to go back to my dentist to check on the original tooth that was to have been fixed two years ago. I also requested the appointment so that the dentist could look at this oral cyst and let me know how to fix it.

Not half an hour after hanging up the phone with the dental receptionist, I'm working at my work PC and boom...the oral cyst bursts. I didn't notice at first, but then pushed my tongue down on it and realized it was belching fluid at an alarming rate. It wasn't blood, which would have really worried me; it was more of puss mixed with a clear liquid, which I'm assuming is water or something. The fluid tasted foul as hell, and I spit it out at the earliest opportunity. I phoned my dad who explained that if it wasn't bloody, I should probably not worry.

Unfortunately, I now have this empty sac under my tongue that looks like a gastric bypass patient's legs two-months on. I know from experience that injuries to your inner mouth heal amazingly quickly, so I'm hoping that I can still drink wine tonight when my buddy Glen heads over.

I'm sitting here in the office, inundated with requests from people of various levels of intelligence and I have to wonder, "How do these morons remain employed?" More specifically, "How do these morons remain employed at a higher salary than I?"
The level of stupidity that parades across my desk daily is a constant thorn in my side - no, scratch that - a large, rusty dagger being plunged repeatedly into my left temple. I honestly cannot fathom how people of such little mental muscle can, as Lex Luthor so aptly put it, "generate enough power to keep [their] legs moving."

Categories: Journal_Entries

Sad news...John Inman, famous for playing Mr. Wilberforce Humphries on Are You Being Served has died. Story here.