According to the Ansel Adams calendar the full moon happens later this week but today right now feels very loonie.
Called my beloved former dentist's "replacement" and his bitchy secretary told me that Chester died and that I couldn't get my teeth cleaned for six months... then I could arrange to have fillings six months after that.
I processed this and just about screamed That's completely ridiculous (and my favorite word when dealing with the world's nincompoops) AND UNACCEPTABLE. And a slap in the face to Chester who dug this guy and handed him his clients.

Chester Memories:
1. the faux lemon tree in the waiting room
2. the mod lemon yellow vinyl setees in the waiting room
3. his rambling stories (my mentor!), that would have him leaning back against the counter, pulling his mask off of his face so you could understand the rambling better
4. the rubber animals and fake ring after-visit prizes

When I finally get to speak to my attorney I have this giant question:
Is it customary to receive letters (not one but two) stating that I must appear before a doctor chosen by the defendant's insurance company with ALL of my accident-related medical records at a designated time and date as if I were a small child or someone trying to rip somebody off rather than a person coping with the aftereffects of nearly getting cremed by a drunk driving an 80s sedan at top speeds?
Please, someone, pass the Oban and tell the moon to behave.
Love.
ps: Andrew WK, if you're reading this, I think that you might be dreamier than Johnny.