Make Her Laugh At That
I've never been much of an achiever. I graduated smack in the middle of my class, I dropped out of college after my freshman year, and nine years later I'm still struggling through. Never been published, no special recognitions. My resume is a barren wasteland of "what the hell have I been doing all these years?"
I am, however, pretty good at amazing doctors. My chiropractor slapped my x-rays up on the lightbox today, and looked at me like, "how are you walking upright?"
Looking at the films? I could see why. I'm a mess. No part of my skeleton above my waist is where it should be.
He then presented me with the award for "worst. jaw. ever." Seriously.
I've seen x-rays of my chest and teeth before, but I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of seeing my own skull in its glorious entirety. It's scary. My head has eyes, and hair, and a nose, and skin, and is very much alive.
Up there on the lightbox though, I was dead. Just a skull with a highly dysfuntional jaw, held aloft by Hamlet.
Alas, poor Cara! I knew her, Horatio: a lady
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: she hath
borne me on her back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is!
When I was a kid I had a dream I was standing in front of a mirror and I grew old and my skin slowly split and fell off until I was just a skeleton standing there, gaping. Scared the crap out of me. Seeing the x-ray today brought a little of that feeling back.
I really need to accomplish something.