if anyone's counting, I no longer like chisels.

I'd tell you about my latest trip to the dentist, but the full version of the story puts the fear of God into anyone who listens. Instead, here's the short version of what happened: slice, peel, chisel, slice, peel, chisel, grind, drill, slice, chisel, chisel, trim, suture. Ow.

What's that phrase? Oh yah: Oy vey.

The good news is, I survived, my brain has made my jaw forgetful and my gums have nearly forgiven me. For now I eat lukewarm soup, tepid mashed potatoes, and try to master swallowing with only one side of my mouth.

I've also been napping a lot, and thinking how shadows are much bigger than their sources. I've been daydreaming about the future and then napping again when I realize how much I've got left to accomplish. My one room apartment has been reorganized and as a result, un-organized. Boxes have been opened, filing systems have been started, clothing has been tossed about and set in piles. My one room apartment is my kitchen, my living room, my library, my office, my retreat, my gym, and my sleeping quarters. Someone remind me that having twenty rooms in one is not conducive to organization. Then remind me again what creativity does best: works in mess, in spite of chaos, and not in the absence of it.