I don’t blame my ex-friends…….

I used to blame ex-friends, but I realize now they were not to blame. Even those that were very mean to me or unfair. I realize the cruelty happened for many reasons, not just one reason. These cruelties included ending communication with me, badmouthing me to other people, turning their backs out of fear, assuming all kinds of things that weren’t true, calling the cops, wrong accusations, diagnosing, recommending “treatment” instead of offering friendship, dishonesty, bigotry, and various other things.

First, I’d like to address weight bias. When we think of weight bias, we assume the topic is discrimination against anyone who is heavy. Did you know that it can and does work the other way? Some of this hasn’t been around that long. Back in the 1950’s and 1960’s and even 70’s, no one thought about losing weight. Dieting for weight loss wasn’t done. People didn’t want to be super skinny. Skinny was seen as weak or sick. Suddenly, the tables turned. Society began to hate fat. Yes, it’s totally illogical, but this hatred of fat has be pervasive in the media and in our language. It’s seeped in everywhere. Suddenly, dieting was huge. Not only that, dieting communities sprouted up, all these supporting hatred of fat.

Now what? People hate fat, and they want it gone. What of those that aren’t bogged down with this hated vermin, fat? What of those who make it seem just so simple to be skinny and stay that way, while the rest struggle? Immediately, this means targeting and scapegoating of those who are thin. We don’t even know we do it.

Of those who are so thin that they might seem sick or simply too skinny, it’s very easy to turn that person into a scapegoat. “That person must be diseased. That’s why it’s so easy for him/her.”

“Diseased,” whatever that means to people, is now seen as a sin. So the very thin person might be labeled the following: Selfish. Vain. Stuck up. Obsessed. Trite. Body dysmorphic. Attention-seeking. Anything but seeing the person as human. Simple envy turns into blaming the envied person.

As analogy: Do you recall the book Lord of the Flies? This was a book about a community of children who destroy themselves. Do you remember Piggy? We never learn his real name. Piggy is envied not because of his weight, but because he’s really super smart. I think the other children envied his insight, and bullied him because they, too, wanted the intelligence he had.

I do the same thing. We all do. I am far more prone to jealousy than I’d like to be. I think most of that comes from being the oldest child. When I feel envy of a person more successful than I am, as a defense mechanism, I might tell myself, “That person had it lucky. I’m less lucky and am seen as inferior.” I get mad when really, it’s not this person’s fault. That person didn’t cause my bad luck. There are greater forces at work here.

Secondly, I’d like to address those that ceased communicating with me. There were reasons for this. Often, it was misunderstanding. Sometimes, the person ran away due to my bad behavior, but this wasn’t the usual cause.  I do recall when I acted badly. I tried to ask forgiveness but the person had already fled. I also tried, unsuccessfully, to explain that a person tends to act badly while being abused. But it was too late and I wasn’t believed about the abuse. I tried to explain that I had been taken off the pill Imipramine too fast, and was in withdrawal, causing me to act badly. However, this apology, too, was rejected. There was nothing more I could do.

Some stopped communicating due to an incorrect assumption. There were so many of these I cannot even count them all. One was diagnosis. Some were convinced I was psychotic or personality-disordered. This I couldn’t stop. Trying to “prove” I wasn’t sick made me look worse.

I know why this happened. For one thing, a lot of it is envy. I’m okay and I’m off meds. I’m okay and I’ve rejected therapy. I’ve been fine for a while now. This is coveted, this independence from shrinks, and others want that, too. So, instead of realizing the bind they are in, they rationalize it by saying, “Yeah, she got away, but she must have SOME disorder.” Or, “She must be suffering. She must have needed all that treatment just like we do.” But maybe they don’t, either. They cannot challenge what they’ve been accepting as fact all these years. To do so would involve pain and immense grieving. Yes, that’s what I went through, too. It’s not easy looking back on all those lost years, knowing it didn’t have to be that way. I know it’s hard for many, often so unbearable that they’d rather believe lies.

I cannot blame them. I do blame the regime they are living under. They don’t recognize the brainwashing, nor know they are being shoved around, mere commodities. I can only hope they turn their lives around, painful as it can be. It’s also joyful.

Then, there were the behaviors that told me the person meant well, but instead, harmed. These include pushing some “treatment” on me, or calling the police thinking they were saving me. There’s no reason not to believe the police will save. After all, we grew up learning that that’s what police do. They rescue lost children and help elderly people cross the street. Truth is, the cops in USA don’t do that anymore. They profile poor people, people of color, minorities, immigrants, gays, and teens, among others. For years, I was treated badly by the Watertown Police and in local emergency rooms. But these well-meaning people who had ratted on me assumed that they were doing the right thing. As I said in another post, there’s a fine line between caring and abuse.

As for recommending treatment, or being pushy about that, I don’t mind, but I do mind if the person shoves it in my face and at the same time, withdraws their friendship. I know how it feels to be the butt of that.

While I may or may not have recommendations for a person based on my own experience, I try not to be pushy. I’ve learned my lesson on that one (the hard way).  And I do not at the same time withdraw friendship or push a person away. Instead, I draw closer, trying to be more available to anyone who I feel I can help, to anyone who is suffering. I don’t think it’s right to turn away from a person because they are having a hard time.

I’d like to address badmouthing. Gossip. What is gossip? It means talking badly about someone, passing along information someone else said. We’ve all been subject to it. People will believe anything! “She had an affair with….” How many times has such false information been passed around and spread like a plague when in fact, no one bothers to find out for themselves?

Sometimes, I’m able to find out where the gossip started and try to challenge the source. Usually, the source is elusive. Otherwise, the gossip wouldn’t be continuing. I did find out one source, years ago, but that was long after the whole badmouthing was over and done with, and wasn’t even relevant anymore.

Other than the above things, if it’s a matter of simple miscommunication, I find that we both recognize the comedy of errors, and we end up getting back together. It’s cool when that happens. Usually, the relationship is stronger as a result.

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Privacy, freedom of speech, and the awkwardness of social media

I’ve learned that honesty is always important, and transparency is vital in this day and age. I don’t want my life to be public, and at the same time, I make a segment of it public here because I believe it helps other people. This is what writing is all about.

No one is entirely open. We all have private parts of ourselves. Writers sometimes are thought of people who “expose all of themselves” in their writing, but such a thing is not even possible. What you read here is only part of my life. The fact that I generate tons of content isn’t indicative of openness per se, it just means I am one of those people who doesn’t have trouble generating ideas. I have difficulty with other areas of life, and have strengths and weaknesses just like anyone else.

I was rudely criticized on Facebook, a person I have never met who has no clue what my life is like butted in and said some rather negative things about me. A mutual friend was shocked at this person’s lashing out, so I assumed it was not typical of her. I noted spelling errors, many, so I thought maybe she was drunk at the time.

I stated a fact, a mere detail of my life, which I found amusing. I only posted it because I thought it might generate interesting discussion. Immediately, this person said, “You have so many problems.” I responded that this wasn’t a problem, just an inconvenience. She then lashed out saying I complain too much and to “get a life.”

Get a life? Does this person have any clue? I live in a new country where I struggle with the language, I set out on my own to do this without even telling anyone, I now am employed after 20 years, I am starting a new training program and doing my own fundraiser to (I hope) get enough money to get this off the ground, and am now possibly collaborating with a friend in USA to start a brand new project where I will be using more of my skills and training. I am doing Nano again this year. Get a life? Really? I cured my own eating disorder, have developed my own theories which I continue to develop and hone,  and this person is telling me to get a life?

Sadly, even though I am thinking she was drunk, the response is typical of many whom I left behind. Her claim that I “complain too much” was also unfounded. I didn’t say, “It rained and I’m totally  miserable over it.” No, I said, “It rained.” So she is the one who read the misery into the statement, seeing the glass as half-empty while I do not see it that way.

I encourage everyone to express whatever they want on social media. Freedom of speech means freedom to express all emotions. No one should be criticized for expressing what others perceive as “negative.” Is grief negative? No! Grief is healthy! Is anger negative? No! People are angry for a reason. Let’s look at why instead of slamming them down. Why is the only okay thing to express that happy, smiling face?

I believe in honesty. Compliance and conformity is dishonesty since the individual isn’t being themselves, they are covering up who they are for the sake of being “liked” and for the sake of approval from others. When compliance is forced, it is tragic. We can only hope that the force ends and that we are free to choose how to express ourselves once again.

Please note

It’s possible I will be applying for another job, so in case I “disappear,” don’t worry about me, I’ll be back. Last time, what I did was to continue to blog, but scheduled my posts to appear after my return. Just letting readers know.

Dear Politicians (regarding the “Murphy Bill” mental health legislation)

I am going to appeal to your human side since I know you are all human.  Many of you are around my age, which will be 58 in a few months. If you are as old as me, you remember the very day JFK was shot. You remember where you were and you remember the reactions of those around you. You probably recall just how you felt at that moment.

Maybe you recall the moon landing. Did you watch it on TV? I did. Do you recall how it felt to see a man on the moon? What did you think?

I remember these things, too. I remember 9/11, but that was many years later. I was in college, at Emerson College in Boston. I was 43 years old. My classmates were all about 18 years old. I arrived early to class that day, actually by over a half hour, even though this was an early morning class (not a favorite time for teens). This was a required essay-writing class taught by a graduate assistant. WLP 101, if I recall correctly. The instructor was younger than me. He wore a beard and wire-rimmed spectacles, had a light complexion and was on the thin side. I cannot recall his name offhand. I still have my class notes somewhere in my computer.

The day of 9/11, I sat in the classroom, quietly reading and waiting for class to begin. I was one of the first to arrive. All at once, someone came in and said, “An airplane ran into the World Trade Center in New York.” I thought the kid was kidding. I broke into a smile, thinking this was just another college student joke. Then, another student came running into the room, looking terribly upset and saying, “Another plane hit the World Trade Center.” I was sure this was a joke then. Two? College kids can think up all sorts of pranks. I wondered if someone had fooled these kids. Maybe it was a Tabloid story. I used to see many stories about UFO’s landing in rather unlikely places. When i was a kid and full of imagination, I thought of the Great UFO from science fiction that would come out of the sky and save the world from disaster. Deus Ex Machina.

Was it true? Slowly, I began to realize it was. The kids looked worried. Scared. All of us knew someone who lived in New York. Were our friends and family okay? More and more news came in. Wreckage. Dead people. Fallen debris. As older student, I felt a need to nurture these kids, even though I barely knew these kids. The semester had just begun. I wanted to hug them, to let them know that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t think I had the authority to say that, but I wanted to, anyway. I knew that they were freshmen, and this was their first time away from home. I can’t even recall the content of the class that day. Our minds were elsewhere.

My next class was in an older building. This was a fiction writing class taught by Richard Hoffman, one of my favorite faculty at Emerson. Richard started the class with an exercise. We studied a poem and then, Richard handed out another copy of the poem. This one left out the last few lines. We were to write our own versions. I have duplicated this exercise when I have taught writing. The poem is by David Ignatow, called “Above Everything.” I cannot reprint it here due to copyright restraints, but here’s a link: http://www.ayearofbeinghere.com/2014/11/david-ignatow-above-everything.html

I believe this assignment was planned out ahead of time, before 9/11 happened. The students were an older group, mostly around 20 to 22. Richard, a few years older than me, had us read our pieces aloud. We went around the room, and each of us read.

….I have changed my mind about the world.
It should go on; it is beautiful,
even as a dream, filled with_____
____________________

____________________.

Dear members of Congress and folks interested in the Murphy Bill: What would you fill those blanks in with? What is beautiful to you? I probably have my own answers hand written and stashed away somewhere in storage. How would you answer?

A couple of students read. It was time for the next student. She began to read. Her voice began to falter and crack. At once, she began to weep, but continued to read.

It was then that so many of us cried.

Richard, feeling empathy for us all, suggested that we stop the exercise and take a break. “I want to know how all of you are doing,” he said. “Let’s talk about that.”

We went outside. The day was beautiful in Boston, as it was September, about the only time when New England tends to be picture-perfect. Throughout the semester, we did many outdoor writing exercises. Each time we went  out, I remembered the first time.

What do you recall?

I want to ask you right now, Do these words I have written sound like the words of a person you think  of as “mentally ill”? Do these sound like the words of a person who was thought of as violent, and seen as dangerous?

I had the following diagnoses, rather arbitrarily given to me at various times: Schizophrenia, Major Depression. Bipolar. Borderline Personality Disorder. Manic. Paranoid. Psychotic. Danger to Self. Anorexic.

If the Murphy Bill had been in effect, I wouldn’t have been at that class that day of 9/11. I would have been attending some  day program I never needed. I wouldn’t have been able to go to graduate school since they thought I “required treatment” instead. I’d be forcibly drugged right now, probably locked up in an institution. Instead, I am free to write these words. While I still could, I turned away from psychiatry because I realized that all those years, I never needed any of it. Turning down psychiatry was the only way I could stay alive. Without forced treatment, I have been able to live and continue to work on creative endeavors.

Do you want to see more force in the USA, more people drugged unnecessarily, more people denied a voice, more people denied their freedom? Isn’t Freedom what people were talking about after 9/11? What does freedom mean to you? What did it mean in New York the day the towers fell? What did the Statue of Liberty mean to your ancestors who came to the USA seeking refuge?

When you walk into your stately workplaces today, think of your children, who very well may be in college right now. Do you want your children to undergo forced care? Would you force your own daughter, a person like me, into a hospital or treatment center against her will? I’m a person who was diagnosed, because I made the choice to consult a mental health professional. Over three decades have passed since I made that choice. However, I’m just as okay and legitimate as anyone else. I have real feelings, just like you. I am a human being.

Welfare fraud: Maybe the man had no choice….

I’m skeptical of these courtroom decisions these days. Here’s the story:

http://patch.com/massachusetts/wilmington/wilmington-man-indicted-fraudulently-collecting-workers-compensation-benefits

As you may know, Massachusetts is an expensive place to live. The rents you find there are generally over $1,200 per month, usually much higher. The cheapest room in a rooming house that I could find cost $700.

If this man collected 26,000 as the article states, this over a period of 14 months, that adds up to over $1,850 per month. This is much higher than I could ever dream of earning. How can a person earn that much in compensation from restaurant work? The job itself probably paid just over $20,000 per year. Here’s the breakdown of restaurant work wages:

http://www.job-applications.com/restaurant-jobs/restaurant-server-job/

This was workers’s compensation. He apparently “collected” for medical expenses as well and I don’t know if that was included in the total.

Still, we don’t know his circumstances. Maybe he had kids to support. Living in Wilmington he probably had a car and cars are a huge expense, you pay and pay. Maybe he had a mortgage to pay.

The article does not state how he was injured. Perhaps he hurt his back or other body part. We don’t know. If pain was involved, then I can imagine what happened. He went to a doctor, he was uninsured or on public insurance due to being temporarily out of work. Instead of getting good care, he was handed pills. And more pills. The easy way if you can’t pay.

I wonder how much he earned while collecting from the other job? Was he working part time or full time? The article doesn’t say. How do we define disabled?

It’s all screwed up. The concept of disability should be canned. If a person uses a wheelchair and is working full-time, that person is considered not disabled, but still gets to park in a handicapped parking space and can ask for “accommodations.”

It sounds like “disabled” has too many meanings. On one hand, it means “Can you get hired?” If a person is subject to discrimination, is that then a disability?  That would mean a person living in a rural area where there are hardly any jobs has more chance of being “disabled.” Disabled used to mean, “Can you do the tasks?”

I accepted disability because I was talked into it in 1984. It didn’t take much. I knew I couldn’t hold down a job because I kept ending up in a hospital. While they’re supposed to hold your position, I had never been so lucky.  Employers break the law all the time and I lost my job.  Even after a three-day hospitalization (which my employer found out about), I returned to work to find I’d been replaced already.  After that, no one would hire me due to medication side effects such as shaking and pimples. By all means I could do the tasks, though. However, my doctors were convinced of my incompetence, and continued to insist I take their drugs and do their bogus therapy where they tried to drill it into my head that I was mentally defective. It was all bogus. I wish I had not believed their lies all those years.

I believe Dr. Charles Capers, who filled out my disability form, lied on the form. He would have had to to show that I was mentally incompetent enough to not be able to do the work. He said I was schiz and by all means I wasn’t. I could do many kinds of work. If I was lucky enough to get hired, I couldn’t keep any job I’d tried to do due to repeated hospitalizations. I didn’t have to go for an evaluation at that time, and no one gave a second opinion. I didn’t fill out anything myself. It was all done by the doc.  I highly doubt any other doctor would have agreed I was schiz, unless they were told ahead of time and judged me by their own preconceived notions.

And so, the decades passed.

So where do I stand on this? To accept handouts is the last thing anyone should do. It’s the last resort. If you just cannot get by any other way. This guy’s Worker’s Comp payments, though quite low, weren’t as low as what many of us received on “disability.” In Massachusetts, for me, that was $850 a month which no one can live on in Massachusetts. My guess is that he probably needed to take time off of work due to injury.  But why did he continue to receive handouts after he no longer needed them? I guess this was bad judgement.  A bad decision. He got caught. Still, the whole system is so screwy, it seems they went after him as scapegoat and should have gone after the real crooks.

Cage-free is for all creatures, including humans, too!

So we are advocating for the freedom of chickens. And demanding that more and more humans get locked up, forcibly drugged, or forcibly treated. Force is inhumane. Chicken have more rights than humans, especially human kids.

Credit: Dreamstime

DCF in tons more trouble….

http://patch.com/massachusetts/charlestown/report-dcf-failed-properly-investigate-bella-bond-abuse-case-0

Is anyone surprised that DCF again screwed up? Why does DCF tear apart perfectly okay families, and at the same time, turn a blind eye to Rachelle Bond, who had already had parental rights terminated, as they put it, twice?

So-called “mental illness,” which is acquired simply by walking into a shrink’s office, should not be a factor in who gets to be a parent and who doesn’t. However, if a person has been abusive to her own kids in the past, DCF should at least keep an eye out. By all means, if Rachelle Bond also had a “drug history,” which could make the problem far worse, why did they close the case? Why does DCF continue to steal kids from perfectly fine parents so that the kids can be drugged or institutionalized or experimented on? Hmm….Money.  There must be money to be made in this kidnapping.  For one thing, Medicaid money comes in, and also, aren’t they paid each time they put a kid in foster care? I recall hearing that.  While DCF was busy making money by kidnapping, they, er, didn’t have the resources to keep an eye on Rachelle Bond and her baby.

Clearly, Rachelle Bond needed support. I can’t imagine the relationship with this boyfriend was the best thing for her, and not for Bella either. Abusive relationships are isolating, especially for the abusees. While I know Rachelle might have pushed everyone out of her life due to abuse (I’m just speculating), a child was involved here. A two-year-old who could not speak for herself. Bella needed protection. DCF is supposed to do this protecting.

Was Rachelle Bond caught in the middle? Or accessory? We may never know. I don’t expect anything fair to come out of the court system these days.

Ooops! I fell…..

I went out running this morning. I was about 20 meters from my casa when I broke into a run. Puzzle’s novio, a small Shepherd who has a twin brother, came bounding up to me. He saw me running and jumped on me to say hello. Granted, this is a small dog, maybe 20 kilo, but that’s a lot bigger than Puzzle, who is seven kilo. Usually when he or his brother jump on me, or even if they both jump on me at once, I don’t have a problem. But for whatever reason, I was caught off guard and fell straight forward.

It didn’t take me long to get up. I was down for only a few seconds. But I knew I wasn’t going to run today. I felt terribly nauseous all at once, and dizzy. What was going on? I hadn’t bumped my head. I knew I had to get home immediately. It seemed to take forever to walk those 22 meters or so. Yep, that was how fast I went down.

What a beautiful day, I thought. But I hoped nothing was seriously hurt. I’d been wearing padded gloves. You know, people used to say I was “crazy” for wearing gloves while walking. I had a reason for doing this. Gloves, particularly padded ones, are great for breaking a fall. If you are bike riding you should consider gloves. They might be even more important than a helmet.

Of all the times I’ve taken a tumble off my bike, including the time I was hit by a car, I only hit my head once. I landed on my hands many many times. I didn’t break a wrist nor damage my hands at all. They can take a lot with gloves on. Breaking a fall will protect your head, but mostly, your knees.

I have two scraped knees and a nasty-looking elbow. Mostly, the nausea overwhelmed me and I had to get home and lie down. My elbow bled so much I had to cover my bed to keep the blood from staining anything. I thought it would take forever to stop bleeding.

After a while, the nausea subsided. I had no signs of concussion. No headache, nothing. I turned my attention to my right knee. I noticed swelling and also stiffness. I kept an eye on it but everything is fine now. It isn’t discolored except of course where it is scraped.

I gotta laugh. I really am fine. I bought a large fan today and carried it home on my head. Sort of. Now, Puzzle and I will be cool all summer long. Bloody knees and all.

Sweet Puzzle

I cut Puzzle’s hair yesterday. She didn’t mind at all, and nearly fell asleep while I was busy at it with the scissors. I held her in my lap, did one side, then let her have a break, then, had her in my lap facing the other way and trimmed the other side. I did her face and tried to get all the “locks” out whenever I found them. Here’s a “before” photo:

Here’s some hair:

Here is an “After” photo:

You can see I have a garden gate out there so I can keep my front door open. If Puzzle really wanted to, she could get past it, but I think she’d rather wait for a WALK!

These are bribery! Commercial dog food! I use these as treats! I think she can’t have too many or she farts all day.

She’s waiting for su novio, her boyfriend. She’s got lots!

But I don’t see her boyfriend anywhere! Do you?

I’m such a cheapo. I found out that a kiddie cup costs tons less, so that’s what i got for morning coffee. It even has a lid.

 

Rice for Puzzle. I have rather awkwardly labeled it. Not that I don’t know what that white stuff is. Hmm, white stuff? Snow? Naw, it’s arroz.

Bargain! Under $3 USD for 30 huevos. Only I think these are smaller than the ones I get in the six-packs. Know what else? I took a bunch, about six, to boil, and then, oops! Dropped all six!  I saved one that didn’t crack, fried one for Puzzle, then swept up the rest of the mess. Don’t cry over Humpty Dumpty.

Pronto! Todo esta bien!

Extra wisdom

When I was 16 years old, or maybe 17, my dentist filled a cavity and didn’t use Novocaine. I know, because I sure would have remembered the needle. Those are large needles! Huge! Scary! Yep, I would have remembered. I had no clue, but I do recall being drilled. I screamed! I was held down by the personnel while the dentist continued and tears poured down my face. Nonetheless, I didn’t suffer lengthy trauma from the experience. The pain was temporary. My tooth ended up filled. Fine. Then, the dentist told me, “Your wisdom teeth are impacted. You need them out, so we need to schedule that.”

Are you kidding? No way! I never went back. In fact, I was scared to see a dentist at all and figured if the guy was going to do what he just did, he might as well be incorrect about my wisdom teeth.

In my 30’s, not too far into them, I decided to go to a dental school, Tufts dental. Since I went there I’ve heard two sides. They’re great and they do the whole family. They’re not so great and wreck teeth. My experience was the latter! I ended up with a collapsed tooth and said, “No more!” They used some sort of anesthetic that didn’t work very well so everything they did hurt.

Maybe a decade later, I had a black tooth in my mouth, a molar but not too far back. I could tell I needed it pulled even before I got to the dentist. This guy was a miracle worker! I told him my previous experiences and he assured me he hated pain just as much as his patients. He said he’d ensure that I could feel nothing at all in my gums prior to yanking the tooth out. Oh boy, when I saw that needle, I freaked! He said not to worry, that it looked scarier than it was. He was right.

Here’s a link to the dentist I saw:

http://www.healthgrades.com/dentist/dr-karekine-matossian-ynd24

I don’t know if he takes Medicaid but last time I asked he no longer could accept it. That may have changed so ask!

So, I was okay, and didn’t see a dentist after that. However, in 2010, late in the year, I broke a tooth. This was not a wisdom tooth but it was a molar. Unfortunately, I had five wrong teeth removed before they got the right one. The surgeon said I needed my wisdom teeth out and he took one other out. Finally I went back and pointed out that he missed! The broken one was still in there. That one finally came out in April 2011, and was rather infected by that time!

The dental surgeon said my wisdom teeth were extremely far back, and that the extraction would be difficult. I know he didn’t see the cracked one at all, even though I told him that was the one that hurt. Had he seen the crack, I doubt he would have pulled five wrong teeth.

Today, over four years later, guess what? I got another wisdom tooth growing in! I told myself, “Naw, that’s just bone.” But I don’t think so. That thing in there wasn’t there before. Apparently, people do have extra teeth. These are called supernumerary teeth.

I’m still wise! I’m still wise! Yay!

I also have these ridge things as part of my upper front incisors. These are too small to be actual teeth but they are certainly shaped like teeth. My lower teeth rest right in there, and always have. Guess what? I thought everyone’s teeth were like that! Then, someone explained it to me.

Here’s an awesome site on supernumerary teeth:

http://www.oralanswers.com/extra-teeth-mesiodens-supernumerary-tooth/

Don’t you think that article is fabulous? I love the humor.

So much for medical oddities. I think this is hereditary but I cannot recall which parent had the upper incisor extra teeth. I don’t know if anyone in my family had a wisdom tooth grow back when they were nearly 60. This is an omen, folks! Watch out, world! I’m coming!

Have a nice day and laugh a lot.