Another session at the amazing NLPing hypnodentist today, this time to get my gums blasted with drugs in order to preserve them until Aubrey DeGrey's life-extension 2-in-1 toothpaste and mouthwash hits the market.
It all went well and I'm even getting enough feeling back to slurp down some miso ramen prepared by Nurse Foe, but I can't help feeling that each time I go back to the amazing hypnodentist that his spell on me is getting weaker and weaker.
It's very peculiar to feel your mind stratifying but effectively that's what it felt like today.
My conscious mind felt like it was up on the safety balcony as I previously described but this time I still had enough of 'myself' left in the lizard (or marmot, or monkey – whatever) brain to flinch when the cleaning machine got a bit too aggresive.
I'm still finding the combination of morbid fascination I have with HypnoDentist's process and the support/gratitude I get from Fiona motivating enough to get me back into the reclining chair of doom, but don't know for how much longer.
Some other thoughts from today's stratified stream of consciousness (probably from atop the balcony of bliss), before I forget them:
- I wonder if a young David Cronenburg had to have extensive dentistry?
- I feel faintly ridiculous wearing shorts while this is happening
- I am very glad I am getting this all done pre-peak-oil / while a significant amount of resources in the first world can be put to the comforting of cowards / before northern europe goes medieval.
And now, football. Portugal Vs. England, then to meet Veen if he survives watching the football in the middle of London on EuroPride day (hope he has the good sense to go to Bradley's Spanish Bar or something…)