We somehow got to the clinic early. We watched men play with oversized Tonka trucks and beat the snot out of the asphalt. I sat in the waiting room, schizophrenic, quiet. I was dulled. My mother kept speaking. I looked at her like she was a fool. Eventually she stopped talking and we just held hands. I kept starring at this huge wooden ship encassed in glass. Why would an oral surgeon's office have a ship?

I followed one of the nurses to the operating room. I tucked my hair under a net, a bonnet, a kerchief and then a Middle Eastern head wrap. The surgeon and the sedation specialist look non-plussed. I tried to relax as they put a brace on my arm and then began to stick this tiny needle inside a vein.

Suddenly my mind was in a nightclub, hung heavy with smoke and cheap aftershave. This wonderful liquid wound up my arm and spoke to me, hauntingly beautiful. It felt like I was being fed wine through an IV. My vision blurred, smile rose and I fell into her completely.

Best nap I've ever had.

I didn't feel any pain, just the usual novacaine numbness. Later on I found out the tip of my tongue thinks everything is warm to hot now. Drinking a shake feels like a liquid fajita is flowing against my taste buds. This'll be a new chapter in creatively chewing food, but there were no complications; I'm happy with it.

I still haven't heard back from my profs. at Oberlin. It's been damn near a week and a half. I got the paranoid idea some of the competition hacked my hotmail account and deleted just those emails, the bastards. I did hear from Adi, of all people. We go back since the 6th grade. My oldest friend. This was the man with the social network and kept us all entertained on the weekends. He thought I'd left for a job already. We talked about finances and the market, research, etc. This coming friday he's got a 500 dollar pot poker game set up in his apartment down in Westwood. Been years since I played poker, but the two kegs, munchies and eye candy are all good incentives.

Speaking of eye candy I finally got my driver's permit yesterday. It was just mom and I for a few hours, dogging each other on with silly comments and me pointing out anything that looked bright and shiny. The DMV in Simi Valley was gorgeous: potted plants, fountains, pleasant outdoor plazas with middling to old white peopl strolling this way and that. I felt nervous. Just then Ray Charles' rendition of "Georgia on my mind" came on. The melody and lyrics always give me piece of mind, like a more world-worn "Rhapsody in Blue." It kept coming back to me and making things easier.

Later on Mom and I went out to get me re-aquainted with cars. Our tries to take over a large parking lot by sheer persistence failed, since the young rent-a-cops decided to follow and flag us down. We couldn't use parking lots for practice: against regulations. The wirey son of a bitch was out of line and out of his ass probably, but he constantly kept moving his gun in and out of his holster. Small powers in small minds: desperate and dangerously pathetic. The side streets of the valley were easier to drive around anyway. It didn't take long for Mom to ease off a little and for the old skill of flying across a freeway at 70 mph or a dark canyon at 35 with no license, insurance or clue one to come back.

So now I have a few stiched gums and a learner's permit. Pains in the ass, but useful and practical.

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