blood tastes of metal. this is well documented. but what people talk about less is that it is also sort of sweet and pleasant.
Rachel Ray is playing on the tv attached the ceiling and Amelia, the dental hygienist, is scraping away large chunks of my plaque plagued gums.
blood tastes of metal but it is also sort of sweet and pleasant.
Rachel has someone on the show, some quack who is rambling on about the berries from a hidden Bolivian valley that reverses the growth of cancer cells and gives you perfect skin and repairs your broken relationship with your father.
I’m at the point where I’m hopeless enough to believe him.
I have decided to no longer live in the world of fact, but rather I wish to inhabit the fantasy of early morning talkshow remedies and late night infomercials that sell you knives sharp enough to cut through the general malaise of having been born. Only $9.99 for the set.
Amelia is now drilling, I believe if she continues in this manner, she’ll strike oil.
blood tastes of metal but it is also sort of sweet and pleasant.
“do you floss?”
ah this part.
the part where I obviously lie and say “Yeah.” Knowing full well that she is staring at evidence to the contrary. “Well I was, but I haven’t in a few weeks” I meekly add, an attempt to give legitimacy to this embarrassing facade. She accepts my blatant deception like a trained professional and continues her barbaric torture of my bleeding gums.
“well you should, Floss is Boss.”
She has said that before, in fact I think she says it every time. I can’t be the only person in here bullshiting about my ability to care for myself. We are, all of us, just merely trying. Attempting to seem as together and on top of it as all the açaí berry eating, low fat, low carb, low self esteem, rise and grinders that we see in magazines or instagram or Rachel Ray.
Rachel has moved on to a story about some woman who hasn’t seen her twin sister in 13 years or misplaced her cat, or something like that. “More from Sherlyn after the break.” They go to commercial. The Nanaimo Hospice Lotto is giving away a 1.7 million dollar mega mansion you can die in as Amelia’s face mask is splattered with blood.
blood tastes of metal but it is also sort of sweet and pleasant.
“Suck.”
She says it firmly. Her tone steady and authoritative. I obey as the pinky spit pooling in my mouth is hoovered away.
“At what point do you start to listen blindly to you captors?” I wonder as Amelia gets the floss and begins doing what I said I’ve been doing, sort of, kind of, sometimes.
Sherlyn and Rachel are back, this time they are cooking. Sherlyn is explaining her families secret soufflé recipe. Nine generations of French farmers who, legend has it, got the recipe from the chambermaid of Marie-Antoine Carême, the famous Parisian soufflér. It’s amazing what you’ll give away for free if they stick a camera on you. Selling your secrets to swine for a 15 second spot on TV and a Rachel Ray swag bag.
It’s amazing what you’ll let your captors do.
“Spit”
Amelia says.
-A
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Can I get the number for those malaise knives? The ones I have just aren't cutting it
I’ve never been so interested in a dentist visit before. The mundane always feels sparked with magic if you just step back and tilt the perspective. Bloods just another liquid of life, a mix of the bitter and sweet of living. As always your writing drops me into your process immediately, and I feel myself splayed on the uncomfortable chairs while a box TV crackles. This was riveting to read. Also, no one flosses. And if they say they do I swear they’re lying.