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So. The list. The List.

Yesterday I went to my outdoor mall and read my book outside and alone for about an hour. Besides the fact that the bench was uncomfortable, I was convinced that my short shorts were too short (maybe they were but who cares), and that a lovely waffle pattern was getting ironed into my derriere, it went surprisingly well. A lot of people do a lot of things alone. Phase one: conquered.

After my “list” time, I had dinner with a great friend of mine. Hilarity and quality girl talk ensued, ending in impromptu sidewalk karaoke session of “Drops of Jupiter” by Train. Now, I hate calling attention to myself. But I’m starting to realize there is a difference between being an attention whore and having fun. Singing loudly and badly to an amazing song is ridiculously fun. What else have I been missing out on!?

Actually, maybe life is simpler without a giant stick shoved so far…. well, use your imagination. This brings me to another area of my list, number 28: Stop taking myself so seriously. It’s one of my biggest faults, hence why it’s all the way on the bottom. What is on the bottom I don’t see, therefore it doesn’t exist until I’m forced to admit it does! Regardless of my penchant for denial, one of my best friends constantly tells me I need to “Relax. Breathe. Calm down!”

So I left the parking lot so proud of myself for being so adventurous. But then I started thinking on my drive home (this is never ever ever a good thing). I remembered the places in my life where I needed closure, to reconnect, or to simply hug someone and let them know I’m thinking of them. What followed is something like this: “I’m going to make a list of all the people I need to do this with, and then I’m going to go down the list, one by one, and let them know how I feel and what I’m going to do about the situation.”

Prepare to be loved bitches!

Heartwarming right? I thought so.

So here’s where it went wrong. I decided to take a double dose of my hormone medications this morning after being off of them for a month. Yeah, I’m intelligent, I know. Ladies, you know what happens. And men, this is where you run and you hide very far away.

So I took my pills and I did what I had to do. I went down the list.

Let me illustrate for you the outcome of this:

Yeah, hardcore right?

It worked…

But not well for me. Almost everything was fine and dandy, smiley faces and crap like that, but I was so freaking emotional (moodswings of good and bad) the women in my office looked at me like I was insane. Because I probably was. But at the end of the day, I had my closure and everything in my life was right. The friends I’d drifted away from knew I still cared, the friends I needed to support I was there for, the people I thought I hurt were at peace with the situation. Hell, one actually cared so much about me he followed up with me all day, making sure I was okay.

But, I had a full afternoon and evening with places to go and people to convince I was normal. So, how do you cure this attack of the feels? Simple. You almost die.

So I was being fitted for trays and all this other crap at the dentist, and if you are familiar with getting dental appliances and such made, you understand what goes into this. I’ll explain for everyone else.

1. They stuff huge metal trays in your mouth filled with a concoction of plaster and despair
2. They tell you to relax and to breathe normally
3. They put this metal clad cement mix on your teeth which oozes out plaster junk, and then when it solidifies, they attempt to rip out all of your teeth at once.

Well the lady comes out with these two huge metal trays and the bowls of plaster mix. I, battle scarred from years of orthodontist visits, pretty much realized I was screwed. Then, she says she needs to make sure the metal trays in my mouth fit before she loads them up.

I have no choice and I know it, so I brace myself for impact. The fitting itself was easyish, giving me some glimmer of hope. She loads these trays up and puts them in my mouth. The bottom one was fine. The top one… I’m thinking of sunshine and happiness and all that, all is going well, it’s all good. Then plaster comes out of the tray and starts going down my throat. I grab the lady and start keening as loud as I can pointing to my mouth.

“Oh is it going down your throat?”
“MMMNNNNANAAAAARRRRR!!!”
“Almost done! It’s all good just another ____ seconds!”
At this point, I am incapable of conveying to her that my gag reflex has made me every dentist’s nightmare since I teethed. I am starting to panic, if I panic, I will choke, and if she doesn’t remove the tray, I will pass out, throw up, or die.
“MNNNNNAAAAAARRRRR!!!!! MNNNNMMMMRRRRGGGGG!!!”
Finally, an audible choking noise starts coming from the depths of my body. Her eyes got huge, she shoves me forward yelling “Lean forward! Lean forward, don’t panic! Breathe! You’re not breathing!!”

Then came the bubbles of spit, air, or desperation. Well, I’d had enough. I grabbed the tray and harnessed my inner willpower. And then, for some stupid reason, I started laughing. Probably because I was now covered in plaster, slightly aware of my mortality, and fully aware of how much I was paying for all of this.

So I hold on to the tray, I breathe, and focus. Then, it’s time for her to remove the tray. One problem: she can’t. She’s pulling and pulling, I grab the thing and I start pulling and it isn’t working. Finally, after a ripping sensation that left me drowning in a wash of plaster and drool… I was free. I sat there, gasping, laughing, and apologizing profusely. Apparently, I made so much noise that the entire dentist office thought I was dying, so there are panicked people coming in asking if everything is okay. One look at me should have solved this, but I gave a weak thumbs up, gagged a bit more, and then escaped… grateful to be alive and no longer emotional.

So, this list is changing things. My relationships, my comfort zones, and my levels of inhibitions. I’m not dreading dance classes and time by myself… I want to be alone! I’m genuinely excited for my life now that I’ve closed the doors on all the “What if” factors. I’ve forgiven all, I regret nothing, and I’m hoping and trusting more than I ever have.

Now I’m going to say a prayer of thanks and floss this plaster out of my teeth.

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