I’ve had my face off and am now temporarily wearing Nicholas Cage’s teeth. Or something more dental and less Nic. Temporary is still the right word though as I am able to open my mouth with slightly more confidence but only thanks to a stop-gap plate before my actual one arrives in a couple of weeks.
It makes a difference to know I won’t feel entirely like a slack jawed yokel freak named Cletus if I chance to open my gob more than a millimetre whilst in conversation with people. I might be named Enos instead (pronounced Anus, as we all know).
I’ve come a-cafeing but continue to shun what used to be my favourite haunt. After several years of hearing the same old bullshit about them fixing their wifi and after realising I don’t actually like their coffee nor do I like much that is on their menu I’ve decided I’m no longer one of their customers. No biggy, they won’t go bankrupt for my personal boycott and this is a city festooned with cafes, many of them with coffees and foodstuffs I do like. Nobody loses.
I’m trying to forge a few new routines for myself. It’s not that I have felt stuck in a rut – if I’m honest the problem is I feel more strongly than ever that Exeter is not where I want to be any longer but the complications of disturbing a life which currently contains great support for my medical issues and some dear friends are not yet worth the risk. If my malaise continues then I may have to throw everything in the air, let the chips fall where they will. Yeah, fuck Martha Stewart, man, sticking feathers up my butt doesn’t make me a chicken.
With apologies to Chuck Palahniuk.