Up early to go to the dentist. I'll need a crown which means a couple hours in the chair being stuck and prodded and ground. My dentist is a big guy with very big hands. I was going to change dentists, but it is too late now. I want a small female dentist with teeny-tiny hands. It should be a requirement for admission to dental school.
As soon as I am out of the chair, I must rush to do some factory work. Supervisory stuff. The day before me seems a punishment.
I know I have been bitching and whining for days. . . weeks. It is a whining without profundity, a baby's mewing, a cat's complaint. Irritating, not illuminating.
I neither educate nor delight. This is not literature. This is not art.
This is no thing at all.
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