So it’s been a little over a day since I had four large teeth removed from the far corners of my mouth, and I must say, several doses of oxicodine and ibuprofen later, I’m feeling quite surreal.
Not surreal in the “I’m so high on pain meds” way, because I’m much too drowsy for that, but surreal in the “I’ve been watching movies and sleeping for over 24 hours and my head feels funny” way.
In this surreal way, before I head off for a long, hot bath, I’d just like to ramble for a while. It will be, more than likely, incoherent, as I am under the influence of pain meds, but that’s ok. I feel like I haven’t been writing to the four of you in a while.
My face is half-puffed up- I have a half square head. It feels oddly heavy, and I probably should just go take a bath, but I don’t want to just yet.
I got a prom date yesterday. That was surprising. I was all set to spend prom night in my bedroom watching Shane Dawson and VlogBrothers videos with some ginger ale and orange juice, but now I have to go buy a dress and stuff. He’s renting a tux. I have a prom date.
Incidentally, just hours before I got a prom date, I got a job offer from a friend. I go interview for it on Monday, after going through training at the local library for volunteering.
I also had four teeth pulled that day. Huh.
I think I want to expand on this prom thing a bit- because it marks an important step in my development. Let me tell you a story.
When I was in 6th grade, I was on the swim team. A swim team. And there was a skinny, red-headed boy named Taylor on the swim team as well. I had the biggest (inexplicable) crush on him, and he asked me to the first middle school dance of the year. My first dance.
I was so excited. I waited outside the gym after school, in line about fifty people behind him. I was wearing a 3/4 sleeved blue striped polo shirt, grandma jeans, metallic green glasses, and my short, frizzy hair back in some sort of awful pony-tail. Once I managed to make my way inside the ridiculously dark room, with hoards of throbbing people on all sides, I looked around for Taylor. I saw him with a few of his friends. We made eye contact, but I stayed where I was. So did he.
A minute later, my friend Annabelle found me, and wanted me to go get pictures with her. Without taking my eyes off of Taylor, I declined, stating that I didn’t have enough money to afford pictures. She pleaded, but all I could think about was Taylor, the boy I’d been dying to go to the dance with, the boy who was making a very big effort not to come near me.
Four minutes later, I used a school phone to call my mom and waited outside for her to pick me up.
I’ve only had a date to a school dance three times since then. Well, two and a half. The half was in 9th grade, my first homecoming, with a boy named Tristan. Technically, I was at the dance with a group of girls, but I promised him a dance. I then spent the rest of the time hiding from him in the bathroom because he was weird and shorter than me because of my heels.
The next date I had was Cody, aka Smurf or Scarface, who was, during 10th grade, my boyfriend. The final date I ever had to a dance was last year’s homecoming, when I was a junior. I met a boy (incidentally also named Taylor, but minus the red hair) on Facebook (I know, I should have learned), and we had several mutual friends. He was a sophomore, but was only a few months younger than me. His parents had started him in school late. It was an interesting time, although about two weeks later he was pulled over for a DUI, a minor in possession, and being under the influence of marijuana.
Thus, my experiences with dances, date or no, have not been entirely pleasant. I just can’t bring myself to enjoy a darkened room full of my horny peers grinding on each other in formal wear. Nothing about that scene is appealing to me.
But you know what? It’s my senior prom, and I’m willing to give dances one last chance. Here goes nothing.
I just hope my face stops swelling soon.
