Inside the Storm

My house smells like a pumpkin pie pulled out fresh from the oven. It warms the room in a way that the heat cannot. Outside a cold rain falls, thick and wet, folding the flowers over upon themselves. Inside the house is filled with music. The sound of bows on strings as the piano pounds away on deep dark notes; perfect accompaniment to the weather outside. And I am in the mood for Dvorak.

Dvorak who could write me the sounds of an orchestra bubbling up from the very fires of hell ... Dvorak who could tell the story of a simple girl and all the worlds pleasures and the very pain that centers itself inside a toothache.

And I'm beginning to believe that dentist is an evil word. Though to be fair, Dr. Doug honestly felt bad enough to see me back so soon and even worse when I couldn't contain my tears. Perhaps it was the whole let's try to drill a bit without bothering with the Novocain that did it. And yet the Novocain didn't make too much of a difference. The tears still came and I still cried, though I attempted a weak smile to make him feel a bit better for being the cause of my torture.

Still all this talk about teeth grows weary. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be home. To sit here on this couch listening only to music as I type away the troubles of this day. And yet now there's nothing much more to type about, too much of the day has passed to be remembered in this brief little moment now. Perhaps tomorrow when I am feeling better, like someone more myself ...