Saturday, February 01, 2003

I just want to love

and write it

but I keep losing my retainer

the little one that goes over my lower teeth

are they still crooked?

hm. my right index finger tells me no, but my left index finger tells me yes, my tongue is non-commital, and a look in the mirror reveals little.

I need that retainer like a warm blanket and the battered stuffed teddy bear I left at home.

will they grow askew again without the gentle hug of translucent plastic and wire?

How comforting is a mold.

There is a hole in the pocket of my sweatpants. Just about the size of my retainer.

Maybe I put it in my pocket while I was running in the soggy Providence afternoon

and it decided it had had enough, and burrowed its way out, down the leg of my sweatpants.

It is saturday night. and I had planned on a jam-session, and, before that, some writing.

but instead I have spent the past two hours scouring my room, emptying my laundry bag, looking under couch cushions and into desk drawers not touched in months, haunted by images of my little retainer being overrun by a herd of SUV's on Wickenden Street, giving myself repeated mental floggings over yet another 200 dollar idiot tax.

Welcome to the mind of a neurotic ten-year -old. And they expect me to graduate next year and do something with myself. Whoever they are, I hope they find my retainer.