Holey

So...starting tomorrow I have a new self-imposed internet limit: One hour per day.

Seriously. Stop laughing. It's not April first. I'm not joking. For a week at least, I'm going to limit my internet time to one hour a day. (That doesn't mean I'm going to limit my computer time however, since I do have things I can work on without being connected to the internet.)

What do I hope to get done in lieu of reading blogs and compulsively checking internet news sites to see if the republican grassroots effort to have president-elect Obama impeached (I'm not joking about that) is gaining any ground? Well, there are Christmas gifts to be made. And there are closets to be cleaned. There's an entire storage unit of stuff that needs to be attacked. There is always reading. (Oh, yeah, books! I remember those.) There're Russian lessons to be caught up on. There's that pesky gym membership that I'm using all too rarely these days. There's all that flossing I promised the dental hygenist that I would do. And, if all else fails, there are kitchen floors to be scrubbed.

So that's the plan. That's the plan very loosely planned.

Bonehead Moves

So today I did a bonehead thing and showed up at the dentist all ready and raring to go with the next stage of the implant procedure and the receptionist was, all, like, Hey! What are you doing here? Your appointment is on Monday, isn't it? And I was all, like, hmmmm....if that's true I'm probably supposed to be doing something else right now, like picking up someone from the airport.

In my defense, my dental appointment schedule is rather dense. I have, for example, six dentist appointments in the next five weeks. And that is not unusual. Welcome to getting an implant. I should've just moved in with the dental surgeon and my dentist. (They're married and share an office, so I'm assuming they live together.)

Oh, I didn't tell you about this: So, in order to have someplace to put the implant, the dental surgeon had to drill a hole in my head. While that has been healing (an eight week process), there's been a flat-headed screw there, as a kind of place holder. Well on election day, I was working the polls, right? And during one very slow period, I got up to grab a donut (chocolate cake, in case you're keeping score at home) and on my first bite, I spit out that little flat-headed screw and was, like, uh-oh. I called my dental surgeon to make an appointment for the next day to have the screw put back. When I showed up for that appointment, my dental surgeon, who is normally very, very serious (very serious), said, "So, I hear you have a screw loose!" I laughed and said to his assistant, "Does he use that line on everyone this happens to?" And she said, very seriously, "No, only those patients who can take it." I thought: Really? There are patients who wouldn't find that corny line worthy of a chuckle?

My dental surgeon assured me that, yes indeed, often people with holes in their heads (holes that he himself has drilled in their heads) don't find much humor in the situation.

Me? Seems like I've spent my whole life trying to increase the number of holes in my head. This is just the latest.