In which the tyger is burning bright

My best friend from high school is here and while I am so overwhelmingly glad, I am also in the worst of all possible moods.

Part of the moodiness came from opening up the important, i.e., expensive mail, to see what was in there. Idiocy! Sheer idiocy. A survey from some shyster lawyer admonishing me for not filling out his previous survey which asks, among other puzzling questions, whether the “treatment named above,” which is not named, might have been caused by a slip-and-fall at work, or at the hands of another party, possibly during a violent crime.

No, I do not believe that the treatment, which by the date I can tell was chemoembolization, was necessitated by a work accident, you fucking stupid motherfucking ambulance chasers. Which I informed them in the margins.

My irritation is exacerbated by the fact that I have two mutant wisdom teeth growing in, and they hurt. My wisdom teeth, once they started, never stopped emerging. Do I have room for them? Hell no! Are my teeth already fucked up? Why, yes! Yes they are. It is my least favorite physical feature, my smile. I also have a cross-bite, which complicates things. Regardless, I don’t want any more fucking useless teeth. I feel you, little babies around the world, with those awful white pegs eroding your perfect gums. It does hurt. And you’re just on the first set.

I guess if you’re in a really shitty mood, it doesn’t hurt to have a slightly menacing smile.

Not amused.