What Does Stress Mean to You?

Final exams? Public Speaking? Drama at Work? Children? Responsibility? Acne?

Each of the above, at one time or another, meant stress for me. The worst stressor, to me, is Dread. Do not confuse dread with fear; that is totally different. Dread is that dark cloud hovering over your head of something to come. You know it’s going to happen. Maybe you don’t know when exactly it is scheduled, but soon. You don’t know how things will go or what realities are involved. The only thing you know for sure is that it will be extremely painful.

No one sat me down and told me, “it will be extremely painful.” I know from experience that it will be painful because I have survived many of these surgeries on a much smaller scale, and they were very painful to recover from.

The Dread (my cloud of doom) began last summer after discussing with my dentist and implant surgeon the best course of action for the bone loss in my jaw and my broken teeth. I would have one or two implants yearly, which did not cover the damage. This was only playing catch-up. We were all sick and tired of my oral trauma. Yet, the solution was horrifying. It was decided last summer. The scheduling messed up in August, so months later, the Dread is monumental.

Tomorrow afternoon the prep for the next day’s surgery begins. No scalpels, just drills. Every implant crown and bridge has to come off before the surgery. The ones in the front will make my two front teeth the only teeth at the top. This look is so cute on little girls. I doubt I will post a photo of this look on myself because I doubt I will get any good drugs tomorrow, no matter how much I deserve them. I’m sure I will rant on that subject in the near future.

Because I like to write “sagas” of crap I have to deal with to work it all out from my head, my next few posts [categorized “Jaws”] could involve details that folks already afraid of dentists may find disturbing. For brave souls that want to find out the truthful impact and the recovery process, for future reference – Please join me. It will be educational. Depending on the comments posted, it could be amusing as well.


Catching On

We sprang forward last nite (2 am today to be exact), giving back that hour we gained when we fell back in November. It is so easy to change the clocks around the house. My internal clock takes longer. For at least two weeks I translate the time in my head, you know, it’s 7:30, but it really is only 6:30 my brain says.

My brain also has trouble with the fact that tomorrow is the first day of spring. 6 feet of snow is not even trying to melt in my yard because the average temp is 36 degrees. I’m too bundled up in sweaters, and leggings under my jeans to even consider spring cleaning. Well, the house is filthy, so I consider it, but will not begin until I can do it in one layer of clothing.

A friend sent me this photo. She and I both know that this image captures a large part of me. Maybe this is my “inner child”. Yes. I arrange things “just so”, trying to be perfect, and always forgetting one thing. Or more.

Someone needs to tell the weather it is time to warm up.

If you have an image that captures your inner child, please share by replying to this post.

~~ TTFN ~~

The Snowplow Stops Here

Icy flakes have been floating steadily and piling up for two days. I can stare out a window in every room of my house and watch the heavens sift powdered sugar to the earth. It’s gorgeous and hypnotizing. I don’t get many chores done when it is snowing.

Mountain House

The winds are picking up and swirling white flakes around. This morning, the measurements were made in inches, but this afternoon they switched over to feet. There is no stopping in sight. The low temperature is predicted to be 23 degrees F. The High is 30 degrees F.

The family room is finally warming up. The fire has been stoked up and blazing for hours I will stay in my snow outfit (thick leggings, turtle neck, with tee-shirt, all under my large SF 49ers sweatshirt,) because it just got warm where the fire is, all the other rooms are icy. I fear that someday, my butt will stick to the toilet seat because it freezes.

Hah! But seriously, can that really happen? Like the tongue on the metal pole? If it can, it will happen to me. Just wait. If not that particular thing, something else is bound to.

I don’t believe in luck – good or bad. The strange things that happen are only that – strange. The cake thing was heartbreaking because I wanted it perfect looking for a celebration. From pouring the batter into the pans to trying to cover the mess with frosting, it was one stupid thing after another. Bottom line: I will have to use a different image in the cookbook I’m writing.

The kitchen is not the only place strange things happen. Or anywhere in the house for that matter. I am the common denominator in every strange thing that occurs.

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