Dentistry + Suffering = Haiku.

So I had a long day yesterday. I know that you probably did too, but I’m the one here with a blog so why don’t you just pipe the hell down, huh?

That it was long was okay, a lot of my days are long, but yesterday I had to go to the dentist. That is not in and of itself a bad thing. Usually I half enjoy going to the dentist because it usually means that I am not at work. I get to just lean back in that nice chair that gently grips my head. I don’t even mind the whistle of the drill (I just try not to think about Marathon Man and how god-awfully-god-awful and awfully terrifying Laurence Olivier was). In fact, the last time I was there I nearly fell asleep while they were working in my mouth because the forced-sitting-still was so nice.

However, yesterday was a whole other bag of worms. Oh yeah, that's right, a bag of worms.

After they jammed the new crown into its spot inside my tooth, the dentist told me to bite down and I did . . . onto a couple of fat cotton balls.

Now I probably need to explain here. I have a weird thing with cotton balls. Not ALL cotton, just cotton balls. That weirdly over-processed cotton gives me the willies. I get goose bumps and it makes me shiver and get all tingly (in a bad way).

I shared this fact with Violet once and for months afterward she was shoving cotton balls into the pockets of my pants – like little fuzzy time bombs – and when I would find them later I would end up shrieking like a little girl. Violet is a devious and mean person.

I tell you that so that you understand that I am trusting you – dear reader.

So not only was it awful to find cotton suddenly in my mouth, but for the past couple of years the cotton itself invokes a truly terrifying image in my head. See, a couple of years ago I was having brunch with my friend Mike The Director and we had gone to the pier in Santa Barbara where I saw a tank filled with horrifying spider crabs (bigger than cats and all covered in spiky armor and filled with the desire to murder you) and over brunch I was explaining how much they freaked me out and he said, “Hey Jamie, I want you to imagine a spider crab spitting cotton balls” and I leapt from the table while peeing all over myself and I fled the scene and did not stop running. Ever. I am still running right now.

So yesterday the Dentist told me to bite down and I FELT the cotton balls in my mouth and the little hairs stuck to my tongue. MY TONGUE! And so my body started freaking out and the whole time I’m picturing spider crabs running around inside my flesh.

It was just terrible.

And so, I have done what one always should do when forced to endure unimaginable tragedy, I have written about it in Haiku form.

Please enjoy my suffering.


I dislike cotton.
Processed cotton; white as
Disneyland snow storms.


Bugs under my skin,
when cotton balls brush my skin
I freak the hell out.


So I shrieked out loud.
When the Dentist said: “Bite down”
on a fat white wad.


Is there a word for
a phobia of this size?
I suffer so much!


The earnest Dentist
jams it in my bloody mouth
trying to be kind.


Tongue quivers, eyes water.
Just get it out of my mouth!
It makes my brain shake.


Synthetic cotton!
Processed cotton! So awful!
Not hyperbole!


My whimpering grows.
The mystified Dentist asks,
“Why are you crying?”


My exclamation:
“You put cotton in my mouth!
Torturing Dentist!”


Where’s the sympathy?
The understanding of my
special condition?





Now that I have shared with you, please do not put cotton balls in my pockets (that is not a euphemism).
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