Andrew Hamm: the Bipolar Express

Ruminations on theatre, music, and just about anything else that crosses my bipolar brain.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Hell is a Toothache

At the gates of heaven, they hand you a harp. At the gates of hell, they give you a toothache.

Trust me on this. As Richmond Shakespeare's resident specialist on all things evil, demonic, and hell-bound, I know. Why does Iago destroy Othello? It's not jealousy or racism, he's just annoyed because he needs an emergency root canal. Faustus is damned for his pride to having a toothache for eternity.

I am in day four of a very sudden and severe toothache in a lower right back molar, and I have never been more miserable in my life. I would take the worst migraine of my life over this. I would have another cracked rib and back spasms. I would have Bart Grantham over to visit.

Were it not for Tylenol 3 with Codeine I would pull my own head off right now, I promise you.

I'm seeing my dentist tomorrow for an emergency whatever we need to do. I'm anticipating another root canal. Oh joy. That'll be three in three years. Why'd I have to inherit my mother's soft teeth?

The only advantage is this: When I go to the RAPT (Richmond Association of Professional Theatres) meeting Monday night after my dentist's appointment, I can explain myself, C.J. Cregg-style by saying "I had woot canal!"


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