I thought it would be worse. I thought it might be better. Nine cavities is damn near one for every year I neglected to take myself to the dentist; a small price to pay for the amount of abuse I’ve dished out to this poor body of mine.
Fifteen-hundred dollars is another story. Where I’ll find this kind of money I do not know. I’m already jobless and damn near broke, leaving my only option to file for a line of medical credit at an exorbitant twenty-nice percent yearly interest rate. The whole thing is fucked in my personal opinion. There should be some kind of ‘addict lottery’ where a ticket can be drawn and a cleaned-up-junky saved, giving at least some hope to the handful of us who aren’t yet dead or still out, having fun.
Regardless, Wednesday is the day when the magic happens. They’ll drill and fill four and then the other five the following week. I can hardly wait.
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