compelled to write. everything.

Today has been an interesting day.

I read South of the Border until a few pages short of the end, when I needed to walk to the dentist.
I lied down, getting a temporary crown for a tooth in the far back depths of my mouth. I could taste an extreme sour that made me gag, smell my teeth burning, and hear the loud buzz of drills in my head, all the while wanting desperately to know the conclusion of the story.
The dentist knew this, so she purposefully took her time after finishing drilling to leave me sit for a moment to read.
When she came back she asked what the story was about. I took the opportunity to explain even though I wasn't sure if she was merely being cordial.
"It's about tortured love. Childhood lovers were separated, only to see each other again years later after the man settled down with a wife and bore three children. Despite this, and because of their intense love for one another, they met secretly several times leading up to one night of passion and promises of a future together. The woman dissapeared the next day, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his life without her."
The dentist's response was "You know, my theory is everyone, if they're honest, will admit to having one person they will walk over fire for. But really, that person is probably not the best for them. It probably won't work out."
Then she stuffed her hands back in my mouth. In my mind I said back to her "I completely agree. I know I'm young and probably naive, but I think I've already felt this way for someone."

After that I walked out feeling a bulbous protrusion made of play-doh was stuck to the left side of my face, partly hoping to see a friend and share some numb laughter. I walked to library, found a spot to sit as quickly as possible and finished the last few pages. Then checked out the next book of Murakami's to read: Kafka on the Shore.
I walked on to chat with Katie at Mediterranean Specialties, ending up there for three hours, reading.

We're back at my apartment and Katie hung out in the dreamspace for a few moments, commenting on how child-like my apartment has become.
Then, in all conversation, my brain failed.
I could not speak the word "halogen" and moments later mistakenly said a man was "stampled" to death. That was a good laugh.

Now we're attempting to read to some jazz tunes.