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Day #311: Dental Denial

The Story:

Dennis couldn’t wait for tomorrow. For over a month now, he’d been looking forward to this day, like a kid counting down the days till Christmas; Dennis had meticulously ‘Xed’ out each day on the calendar leading up to tomorrow. And now, it was almost here. It had been too long since he remembered feeling like this, for a variety of reasons (also known as his newly divorced ex-wife) he’d gone for years without it- but that was about to change, and it was going to hurt.

It’s not that he ‘liked’ pain, exactly; I mean he wasn’t one of those sick freaks you see on the Internet asking fat women to sit on them or dudes to come over and punch them in the junk, nothing that weird. Dennis just… let’s see, what’s the right word?… he ‘appreciated’ being ‘put in his place’, shall we say. To be honest, it’s not all that uncommon, for a man with Dennis’ power and wealth to, every so often, seek out ways to feel like the rest of us do on a daily basis.

All the arrangements had been made months ago, all Dennis had to do was show up and the rest would be taken care of. Pouring three fingers of his best scotch into a cut-crystal glass, Dennis made his way to his study and leaning back in his overstuffed desk chair began to imagine all the different ways he would be made miserable tomorrow as he swirled the liquor in front of him. He’d be restrained, there was no doubt about that- that was one of his favorite parts. The lighting would be harsh, glaring. The temperature inside would be almost unbearably frigid, especially in the cotton slacks and polo shirt he planned on wearing for the occasion. Things would be shoved in his mouth, he’d be exposed repeatedly to dangerous elements, sharp menacing tools would be used to poke and prod at him in ways he could only imagine… it was almost more than one man could stand.

Something along these lines, perhaps?

Wishing he could go at this very moment he was so overcome with anticipation, Dennis settled back into his chair and tried to convince himself the anticipation was part of the experience. He’d just have to make do with his imagination until tomorrow came. “I bet I hear people screaming as they lead me down the halls,” He thought to himself with barely contained relish. “Then I’ll be put in a small little room and left to wait all alone for an indefinite amount of time. Then they’ll come in and force me to lay down. They’ll talk to each other using a language I can’t understand but its sharp and guttural sound will have my skin crawling as they are most definitely discussing my imminent torture. There will be strange machines in the room, all with the sole intent to rip me to shreds,” Dennis swallowed the last of his scotch and slammed the glass on the desk in excitement, “Hot damn! I just love going to the dentist!”

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Today marks a milestone in my life. Today, I went to the dentist. Yeah, yeah, I know, big whoop right? Wrong. It is indeed a ‘big whoop’. You see, I hate the dentist… no, that isn’t exactly correct. What I hate is a bit more complex- I hate disappointing people. I hate disappointing people to such an extreme that my last dental visit was over 6 years ago because they made this mistake of telling me I had the teeth of a woman 15 years my senior. This comment, along with a pretty steady barrage of being told I didn’t floss enough, I was brushing wrong or I had another cavity that needed filling, etc. traumatized me to the extent that going back in six months, a year, two years, six years seemed masochistic. I know, I have ‘issues’. Let’s not focus on the negative, shall we? Good. The point is, I went. And, surprisingly it wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was rather pleasant. Everyone was extremely nice, I was allowed to wear my Ipod during the entire process (except for X-rays) and shocker, I had no cavities! Besides a minor freak out after the tech took my blood pressure and asked if I was nervous (um, yeah I was alright until you asked me that and now I’m totally freaking out because I think I’m dying since obviously my blood pressure is not normal which means my heart is going to explode at any minute…but no, I’m like, totally fine) I’m very proud of myself and how well I kept it together.

What do you mean, "Am I nervous"? Do I look nervous?!?!?

Love & Squirrels.

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Day #160: Colette in Crisis

The Story:

Cramped into the tiny space, Colette adjusted her aching knees, trying futilely to find a comfortable position. How long had she been in here? Time seemed to stretch out and away from her like ripples of heat rising off blacktop when viewed from a distance. She knew one thing though, if she didn’t get out of here and soon, she was going to lose it.

As if being imprisoned in this metal deathtrap wasn’t enough she was surrounded by thousands of people, going about their business of enjoying their freedom, completely ignorant to her plight. Colette had tried to call out to them, signal them somehow to solicit help but all her efforts were short-lived and complete failures. No one looked, no one saw. They just zoomed past, completely absorbed in whatever errand forced them on towards innumerable destinations. Colette tried to shut it all out, pretend that she was under the covers in her bed, safe and warm with cold feet being the worst of her troubles. She could almost feel the soft pile of her worn cotton sheets against her cheek before a back spasm catapulted her back to her desperate reality. At least she was able to maneuver her arm enough to rub the arch of her back and somewhat alleviate the pain- thank God for small miracles, and all that.

The metal box that was her prison was noticeably growing hotter with each passing minute- or hour; the two were interchangeable at this point. Having stripped down to just her cotton camisole, Colette leaned closer to the vent that allowed in a little air from the outside world. Swallowing the urge to spew at the stink of putrid air that greeted her nostrils, Colette steeled herself and after a few seconds was able to take in the cooler air, the smell of rot and wet city was almost pleasant now.

Suddenly, Colette was keenly aware that she was no longer alone. Had her captor returned? The thought sat on her brain like an olive skewered to the top of a muffuletta. If they had come back, would she be released or would her tortured be continued in some new unimaginable fashion? The possibilities instantly overloaded her already fatigued mind. A shadow by the door, the handle began to move… Colette could only wait.

“Hey honey, sorry that took so long. For some reason they didn’t have the order I phoned in, so I had to reorder everything, and of course there was a line…anyway, let’s get outta here so we can chow down on some barbeque, what do you say?” Colette’s mother smiled at her as she climbed into the driver’s seat after depositing their takeout in the backseat. After abandoning her in this Volvo-shaped tomb for at least 20 minutes, her mother’s ‘cheery’ demeanor paired with the drool-inducing smell of barbeque that now filled the car was obviously some kind of ploy to win the girl’s trust. Colette just shrugged- best to remain noncommittal in these delicate situations. No doubt her diabolical birth-giver intended to regain Colette’s trust only to dash it against the pavement later in another subversive fashion not slightly removed from outright torture. Cruel woman.

Driving out of the restaurant’s parking lot and into traffic, Colette’s mother whistled along to some vile tune being disgorged from the Volvo’s speakers allowing Colette time to reflect on what horrors might await her once they arrived home, green beans from the can? cleaning out Sniggles’ litter box? emptying the dishwasher?!? Colette shuddered at the possibilities.

Stop being so dramatic, you'll stunt your growth.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      A curse upon cars, the lot of them! After spending my entire evening inside one, trapped as it were- I can honestly say that if I were picked up in my sleep tonight and moved to a locale where there were no cars, or at least fewer of the dumb things I would hug my abductor and never leave such a wondrous place.  Ok, I’m being a little dramatic, but after riding/driving around on Orlando streets during a four-hour thunderstorm, surrounded by the soft-headed sock-puppets that are Orlando drivers I was so wound up by the time I got home I felt like I had just endured some kind of trauma. While I wasn’t trapped and actually elected to ride along/drive tonight, being stuck in a car from 5pm to 9pm and only going approximately 10 miles in any direction took its toll. The story is how I imagine a very dramatic pre-teen cataloging her ‘imprisonment’ in such a situation as her mother runs some errands about town.

That's a great idea... if you're suicidal (Orlando drivers can barely spell bicycle, let alone notice one as they careen down the road 20 miles over the speed limit... just sayin)

TWO:    One of our stops was at 4Rivers Smokehouse in Winter Park, have to keep mama happy while she’s riding shotgun- a bottle of Cheerwine and some fried pickles are definitely one way to do that. Nom… nom… nom… nom….burp!

Love & Squirrels.

Day #18: Don’t Touch Me!

Posted on

The Story:

May 7, 2011

Dear Diary,

You’re the only one I feel safe divulging this information to so soon after the horrific events of today. Should I be discovered I am sure that my very life will be in jeopardy. Today began normal enough; little did I know that in just a few hours my life would be changed dramatically forever.

I arrived at my destination with a feeling of anxiety that is pretty typical for me. I should have run when I had the chance. The building appeared normal, actually it was very Zen with its bamboo, wood paneling and water sculptures. Of course now I know this was all a part of their game, the soothing surroundings just another tactic to lull me into a false sense of security. A clipboard was thrust at me and I was directed to complete it, including all medical history, my personal contact information and other details they could use against me when the time came. Sick bastards. I was then shuffled into a dark and strange smelling room, “so this is where it happens”, I thought to myself. There was strange music playing softly in the background, it was like nothing I’ve heard before. I now am convinced that the music playing was a subliminal mind-control device utilized by my captors to make their victims more pliable. Next I was told to undress and remove all my jewelry. The humiliation of being forced to remove all my clothing is something I will never be able to forget. I was then to position myself face down on what was to be the device of my imminent torture. I felt the fight drain out of me as the music played on and before I knew what was happening I was complying. I waited for hours, naked, in the dark with only the strange odors of some root wafting through the room as music put me in a trance-like state. Then ‘the voice’ as I’ll refer to him, because I never actually saw my mystery tormentor, only his bare feet, returned. I pause here, mostly to staunch my resolve to tell this sickening account of my torment but also in order to gather my thoughts of what happened. Due to the psychedelic music, the heinous smell and my overall inability to fend off the unspeakable acts that were to come, I am only able to recount some of the events. I’ve listed them along with some of my theories below, in the hope that I can better understand why this happened and prevent it from happening ever again.

  1. I was stretched and contorted in unnatural and seemingly impossible ways for unknown reasons.
  2. Pressure points were exploited to make my more malleable.
  3. Disembodied hands seemed to come at me from several directions at once. I was at all times being touched, I believe as a way for ‘the voice’ to ensure I knew he was in  complete control and could do what he willed at any time.
  4. Unknown oils and possibly toxins were rubbed into every inch of my skin. I have been performing routine checks on the hour, every hour for latent reactions.
  5. Neck was twisted and pinched, at which point I was ready to give up any information requested… had they but asked. “The voice” remained silent only furthering my duress.
  6. Buttock and upper thighs were molested repetitively. Bracing for the assault that never came, my mental stability has never been more shaken.
  7. My skin was repetitively seared with hot stones. I was even made to ‘hold’ a stone in each of my hands for an unknown duration of time.
  8. A hot compress was pushed onto my exposed back- the heat and weight soon caused profuse sweating.
  9. My appendages were each yanked and tugged beyond their capacity in all manner of directions. It felt as if I were being hind & quartered, or very close to it.
  10. My arms were rubbed and almost brutally gouged that I am sure they will be bruised by tomorrow.
  11. The oils made my feet slick so that any escape would be immediately thwarted by my inability to gain any traction on the bamboo floor.
  12. For some unknown reason I was unable to talk, unable to protest at any time. Even when the pain became unbearable my mouth remained shut. I still am not sure what the cause of this strange phenomenon could have been, but I plan on investigating further.

That is a brief summation of the terrors I endured. Should I recall any additional details I will return to this entry to include them. I am still in shock from the events that occurred today, and my arrival safely home only adds to my confusion. Somehow, as I was unconscious or in a deep sleep, I was escorted home. Upon awaking in my own bed, I immediately began to play back the events of the day, hoping to find some kind of explanation of why this had happened to me. I still do not know.

Sitting next to my bed, on the side table was a glass of water that was only half full. I now know that what looked like an innocent glass of water also contained some unknown toxin that has resulted in my immediate decline in health and the onset of a summer cold. At least I hope that’s all it is. I’ll continue to update on my status. If, for whatever reason, I do not survive the night, I would like Bubbles the goldfish to go to Cayla, Mom your favorite lipstick is in my dresser’s top drawer and dad, sorry about the dent in the car’s fender, it was an accident.

Love,

Sasha

Upon discovering the entry above while vacuuming, Sasha’s mother immediately scheduled Sasha for an appointment with an abnormal psychiatrist who began treatment for Aphenphosmphobia and possible paranoid schizophrenia.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:           I got a massage today. This is always a bit of a tricky thing for me, as I am not a big fan of being touched (especially by strangers) but I carry so much stress in my shoulders and neck I was willing to endure the ‘molestation’ for some brief relief. Today’s massage was a hot stone treatment; something I thought sounded really lovely and ended up not being my most favorite thing in the world. For some reason the phrase “hot stone” did not compute so when it came for those suckers to be placed on my skin I was not prepared for just how hot they actually were. I mean, ouch. All in all though, the experience was good- I just know to stick with the traditional Swedish technique in the future (that’ll teach me to try new things!). Since it wasn’t my first massage, I had a general idea of what was expected, what to do and all that, but while I was laying face down in a dark room awaiting a strange man I had only met minutes prior to come rub me down, I thought about how the scenario might be completely misinterpreted under different circumstances. So instead of clearing my mind and breathing in the relaxation, my mind was engaged in twisting what was actually happening into something you’d see in a James Bond movie.  This is my curse.

Don't Touch Me! La la la, la la la la, la la la la....

Love & Squirrels.