The glow of the candles I've lit bathes my face in a luminous glow. I've poured wine to the soft teasing that is Billie Holiday on the stereo. The rain falls gently outside my windows. It's only 6:30, but I'm ready to slip into something more comfortable. With a sly wink at my cat, I open the plastic case and pull it out. I fumble at first because it's a bit tricky to get it in. But then it is in. And so am I. And with that, I must ask you this: Is it wrong to have such feelings of love for my night guard?
For the virgins in the house, a night guard is the super expensive (but oh so fabulous!) dental apparatus that prevents one from grinding her own teeth into a fine powder. In case it matters, (and it does) I am not actually a girl who grinds. Rather, I am a clencher, meaning I clamp down with more maniacal rage than a pitbull. Strong enough to crack three teeth. Faster than a speeding case of gingivitis. Able to leap over my dentist in a single bound. You get the idea. I'm mad about my most recent restraining order -- the one against my own mouth.
Turns out repressing rage for thirty-some years is really bad for you. And while I already knew that, wasn't all that therapy and meditation supposed to take care of that? What about all the chakra realignment and the spirulina? I spent eighteen years getting into the lotus position only to find out that I'm still so full of tension that my jaw is harder to open than Anna Nicole's coffin. And I was more than a little uptight about that til I remembered that that's my whole problem - tension. And then I found the NTI.
I don't know what the embossed NTI on the blah and un-fabulous carrying case stands for. I'm guessing Night Tension Intervention. I'm doing an intervention on my jaw. Had I known I could get treatment I would have hit bottom a long time ago. And I am here to tell you that thing is worth all three hundred eighty-something bucks. I no longer wake up with a daily headache, which for me is rare. I have the Excedrin addiction to prove it. My friend Vera suggested that maybe that's why I hate mornings as well as morning people. Maybe I've simply been biting myself into a headache all night. Fortunately, that's not an option anymore. That little piece of acrylic forces my jaw just slightly ajar. It is weird how much this relaxes me. It is also weird that I look forward to putting it back in every night like a pacifier. I have a binky. And I love it.
To eliminate any unpleasant hockey player imagery you might have going on in regard to me, I will tell you that my night guard clips onto just my two front teeth. Actually, I look a little bucktoothed in full regalia, but days without headaches are worth a little sleepytime dorkiness. My dentist's assistant told me that both she and her husband sleep in night guards that she herself fitted. I aspire to such happy endings. And since I won't leave home without it maybe I should place a personal ad specifically seeking a fellow guardian. Or maybe I should just curl up with my night guard, blissfully unclenched. Oddly, bizarrely satiated. Nighty-night!
For the virgins in the house, a night guard is the super expensive (but oh so fabulous!) dental apparatus that prevents one from grinding her own teeth into a fine powder. In case it matters, (and it does) I am not actually a girl who grinds. Rather, I am a clencher, meaning I clamp down with more maniacal rage than a pitbull. Strong enough to crack three teeth. Faster than a speeding case of gingivitis. Able to leap over my dentist in a single bound. You get the idea. I'm mad about my most recent restraining order -- the one against my own mouth.
Turns out repressing rage for thirty-some years is really bad for you. And while I already knew that, wasn't all that therapy and meditation supposed to take care of that? What about all the chakra realignment and the spirulina? I spent eighteen years getting into the lotus position only to find out that I'm still so full of tension that my jaw is harder to open than Anna Nicole's coffin. And I was more than a little uptight about that til I remembered that that's my whole problem - tension. And then I found the NTI.
I don't know what the embossed NTI on the blah and un-fabulous carrying case stands for. I'm guessing Night Tension Intervention. I'm doing an intervention on my jaw. Had I known I could get treatment I would have hit bottom a long time ago. And I am here to tell you that thing is worth all three hundred eighty-something bucks. I no longer wake up with a daily headache, which for me is rare. I have the Excedrin addiction to prove it. My friend Vera suggested that maybe that's why I hate mornings as well as morning people. Maybe I've simply been biting myself into a headache all night. Fortunately, that's not an option anymore. That little piece of acrylic forces my jaw just slightly ajar. It is weird how much this relaxes me. It is also weird that I look forward to putting it back in every night like a pacifier. I have a binky. And I love it.
To eliminate any unpleasant hockey player imagery you might have going on in regard to me, I will tell you that my night guard clips onto just my two front teeth. Actually, I look a little bucktoothed in full regalia, but days without headaches are worth a little sleepytime dorkiness. My dentist's assistant told me that both she and her husband sleep in night guards that she herself fitted. I aspire to such happy endings. And since I won't leave home without it maybe I should place a personal ad specifically seeking a fellow guardian. Or maybe I should just curl up with my night guard, blissfully unclenched. Oddly, bizarrely satiated. Nighty-night!
