September 24–26, 2004 — Other people’s parties

With my new apartment came a renewed obsession with oral hygiene, brought on this time by the suspicion that my wisdom teeth might be infected. And I guess the realization of how much it would cost me if they had to be removed was a factor, too. So I’ve returned to flossing after months and months of laziness, and I’m even wearing my retainer again at night. I don’t think the retainer will help as much as flossing if my wisdom teeth are the problem, but I tell myself I shouldn’t split up the elements of my oral hygiene improvement plan; divided, each improvement would fall, but collectively they might stand the test of time.

Andrew gave me his dentist’s business card, but I haven’t worked up the courage to make an appointment yet. I’m going to wait until my wisdom teeth are clearly infected or until I’ve a month of flossing behind me and my gums are bleeding a bit less often so I can more honestly claim to have been trying very hard to keep my teeth clean instead of blushing a bit and admitting my failings.

I’m not sure why I’m writing about this. I just finished brushing and flossing my teeth, so that might be part of it; I can feel my retainer pushing my teeth around, too.

There’s something about this part of the night that I don’t like very much. It’s the part that begins after I’ve decided the day has gone poorly enough that I should just go to sleep, but before my body is capable of it. So I get ready for bed and lie down for a minute or two. Then I come back over here. I see who’s online, but I’ve blocked everyone, so it doesn’t really matter who is or isn’t there. I just like looking at what different people have changed their screen names to and wondering if they’re really online or if they’ve just left their computers on. I try to remember why I decided I couldn’t talk to anyone online anymore, and I consider unblocking one person or another. Then I stop myself.

After that, it depends. Sometimes I’ll do what I’m doing now, start writing about things that aren’t worth writing about. Other times I read the articles that have been posted online from the next day’s newspapers. I should really just go to bed. Or at least lie in bed; anything that doesn’t involve typing.

I had to move my mouse to the left side of my keyboard because my right arm was hurting too much from using it. It’s a right-handed mouse, so it’s very awkward to use with my left hand. I thought moving it would make me use the computer less at home, but I’m just getting better with shortcut keys in an effort to eliminate the mouse altogether.

Lately I’ve been swearing more, but I think my tendency to fall back on song lyrics when trying to explain myself is much greater a sign that any creativity and intellect I might once have had now lie in ruins. With that in mind, there’s part of a song I keep listening to, something like, “I claim I’m not excited with my life anymore / I blame this job, this town, these friends / The truth is it’s myself.” I think that about sums it up.

As soon as I finish this, I’m going to go listen to sad music with the lyrics in front of me, copying down the parts I like and then scribbling “So true!” beside the ones that feel like they must have been written just for me.

That was pretty stupid. Normally I’d end it there and leave myself to wonder whether I took anything I’d written seriously, but I still won’t be able to sleep, so I might as well stay here.

I’m getting really good at alienating people lately. I guess I’m just too demanding. I’m pretty high-maintenance for someone who never really wants to do anything. And I guess advertising how much I don’t like the awkward feeling I get in groups wasn’t such a good idea; it’s pretty negative. I’m supposed to be lying to myself, pretending not to be negative. And if I can’t lie properly to myself, who else is going to believe me?

Now to find a song with lyrics I can appropriate the next time this comes up. And if I claim a paraphrased version of the lyrics as my own, I’m sure someone will see a depth in me all the people who talk to me on a regular basis have found doesn’t exist.

That would still just be a white lie, though, right?