Seven days all new in a row for me.

My life is changing a little this January, which is usually like Month #13, past home plate, meaningingless.

I pray to be good; I try but rarely succeed in living each day deliberately.

Walked into work Monday, half-expecting to be fired and half hoping to be fired. But to be faithful to my prayer of that morning, instead I walked directly to the Boxx's office and said the words I needed to, to clear up a misunderstanding and secure my position.

(Now I say "misunderstanding". The truth is I'd taken advantage of some plausable deniability one day.)

You know you're in a rut when you're happy to get off work early to go have a root canal, I told the assembled at the Dead End Club.

I didn't mention that my game was to endure the (neccesary but no emergency) root canal to get a pocketful of Vicodin.

I am being remarkably responsible about my teeth recently.

About that. ...

Mama said it was "oh, nothing much, it might take a few visits", but when I'd talk to others their faces would cloud over ---or wince--- in sympathy. That kept startling me, and then they'd laugh (or cackle, actually). Someone at work told me I looked kinda green.

How could I know for sure I'd get my narcotic consolation prize? I resolved to be pessimistic. That he wouldn't give me the script, and this was after all a good thing since I'd be able to eat crow again.

Did I say crow?

Fifteen minutes into the procedure the doctor found "live tissue" (guess how he knew, yeah, guess! Elfin Frackin whack a dackin' A!) He expressed amazement.

In fact he said , quote, "I think I can say I'm astonished!".

My doctor is a man who, like me, waits for the chance to use favorite words. This was his chance, he announced. I'm gonna say it. "Astonished". I really am.

My tooth was still alive, so I half-wittedly decided this must change everything, and I wasn't having a root canal after all.

For an hour and a half, I thought we were doing some sort of elaborate, heroic engineering, like building tiny scaffolds around the tooth, buttressing it, preparing it for seven new storys and an atrium.

I relaxed, then. It wasn't a root canal, I thought, so I relaxed and gazed into the veiled nurse's eyes, which seemed to be gazing back into mine, though I knew they weren't. For awhile I was occupying myself trying to see into her soul, while she looked into my ancient egyptian mouth and probably thought "gosh someday we're all going to die, gee..."

Finally I closed my eyes, thinking that was more polite. Then when he was finishing I opened them in time to see smoke rising from my jacked open maw of death. I said, "O,E,AAAA!" and he said don't worry that's a sign of success.

The roots were filled. I don't know why they say "canalled". The roots were cannalled. I was grateful. He then got a piece of paper from the copy machine and with an ink pen drew a picture of what he'd done and what is yet to come. I admired him, and wondered if dentists aren't sculptures or painters in their spare time. Maybe they build ships in bottles. (I hope not, that would be a terrible hobby. Like a long car drive, too much time to think.)

I said is this going to hurt when the novacain wears off? He said no, but do you want some---

"Yes", I said before he said the word.

Got home, took some advice to pray and I'm surprised to report I didn't abuse them after all. Actually, I took less than prescribed, which is lucky since my tooth hurt for days.

I go in again Tuesday. And I will be the addict, I will be hoping for more. Once the prayer is said, though, it's a done deal. I believe this so strongly, there have been times I deliberatly did not pray. So, I pray I will pray and maybe you will pray that I pray that I pray.

I'd say something about wrestling an angel here but am not quite clear on the literary meaning. Should look it up...