Common Sense: Are we speaking again?
CS: I was rude the other day.
Me: Exceedingly rude.
CS: And we need to talk about the dentist.
Me: First we talk about the EXCEEDING RUDENESS.
CS: I am sorry. I got carried away. You were all hopeful, and you’ve got to admit…
Me: You’re digging a hole, here.
CS: That good day? Ended up being fairly shitty.
Me: THE ATTEMPT WAS MADE. That’s the point.
CS: I thought I was looking out for your best interest. I overreacted and I’m sorry.
Me: Apology accepted.
CS: Now can we talk about the dentist?
Me: The dentist was hilarious.
CS: The dentist was NOT hilarious, the dentist was sick and wrong and gory and insane!
Me: And FUNNY.
CS: I can’t believe you GIGGLED through a tooth extraction.
Me: It was funny! He had me in a headlock and he was pulling out my TOOTH. Which was in my SKULL! It didn’t hurt or anything, we had Novocaine.
CS: And you laughed at the miners.
Me: ABSOLUTELY UNTRUE. I HAVE to explain that one to the nice people.
CS: By all means!
Me: Okay, so I was there, in the dentist’s chair, and he’s chattering away about how much he LOVES to pull teeth, and how it’s his FAVORITE thing to do, and he literally has me in a headlock for, I dunno, leverage, and he’s pulling, and on the TV they were pulling the Chilean miners out at the same time and the juxtaposition of the pulling of the tooth and the pulling of the miner was just…it was perfect timing, how they both popped out at once and I laughed my ASS off. I was NOT laughing at the miners. That would be TERRIBLE.
CS: So you say.
Me: You’re so suspicious.
CS: *grumbling* One of us has to be.
CS: I’m saying that between the Vicodin and the tub of pudding you’ve eaten since the tooth thing, you’ve been in a very weird mood. It’s completely bizarre.
Me: Because I’ve been in a good mood? That’s bizarre? And the Vicodin was only that first night. And the pudding is entirely medicinal.
CS: YOU don’t GET to be in good moods. That’s when the DOOM happens.
Me: We’re not getting into this again. We spent the ENTIRE HOUR at therapy today discussing that little belief system that you’ve ingrained in me, and we came to a conclusion about it.
CS: That there’s no escaping the doom?
Me: That the idea of being happy terrifies me, and we’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do in therapy, like, whoa.
CS: …And the doom.
Me: SEE!?!? You won’t shut up about the Doom! There’s no way we can be happy if we’re constantly waiting for Doom!
CS: Just when you least expect it…
Me: Will you STOP?
CS: …The doom comes and bites you on the ass.
Me: We have a lot of work to do.
CS: *shrug* I’m pretty much all set. You know, with the Doom.
Me: Then *I* have a lot of work to do. Because I don’t want to wait for the doom anymore. I want to be at least somewhere in the hemisphere of being happy sometimes and not being afraid of it.
CS: How hard was it to even type THAT?
Me: wicked hard.
CS: You’ve got a lot of work to do.
Me: *sigh* yep. But the med? The Magic Med? I think it’s doing…more good things than bad! So that’s good, I can be happy about that!
CS: But you’re not. You’re convinced it’s going to backfire or eat your organs or make you explode or something.
Me: I have a lot of work to do.
CS: Too bad you flushed those Vicodin.
Me: Shut up.