Die, Molar Scum, Die

I've been having problems with my teeth. One tooth, to be exact, and it's not even a whole tooth. I already had to have it sawed down and covered with a crown. It was one of the bottom molars that got crushed by the evil upper teeth. About a month ago, this tooth decided fuck you I'm out of here and started sending shooting pain down my jaw, through my throat and into my left arm, hoping to piss me off enough to make me kick it out. I started panicking, wondering if I would be able to make it to my next day off or if I was going to have to lose work plus pay for two trips to the dentist because you can't just walk into the dentist's office and tell him to yank one. No, oh no. You have to make an appointment for him to just look at the tooth and agree that yes, that tooth was ready for the tooth fairy. Then you have to make another appointment to have it pulled. Maybe if you walked in screaming in agony they might take care of you right away, but it's never worked like that for me, and I've had two root canals, three crowns and two teeth pulled. And I don't even like the dentist. I just keep going back over and over. You'd think I was stalking the guy or something.

Anyway, my jaw swelled up. The Man had the nerve to call me Chipmunk. Then the swelling shrank down. It didn't go down completely, but I wasn't worried about not making it to my next day off any more. Then it was like the tooth just felt like fucking with me. It would hurt more one day, less the next. Some days the swelling would go down, some days it would go up. Some days I could barely eat on either side of my mouth, some days I chanced it with soft food, like stew or baked potato. It freaked me out. As far as I knew, a tooth starts hurting and keeps on hurting until you have a root canal or get really pissed and have it pulled. Turns out, sometimes the tooth gives up. Mom said my tooth died. About time is all I've got to say.