Garr ... me so tired

Yes. I am. Had another day sans pain relief ... still waiting for endoscope ... still having to deal with pain with no end in sight ... quite depressing, really.

Still, it could be worse. Shouldn't complain. We got a cross-trainer today. I had a bit of a work out on it. Turns out, I'm not as unfit as I thought I was. But I hurt like superfuck now. My feet feel like they've been massaged with razor wire and had a soothing wash in broken glass. My hands feel like they've been holding on to a thin wire all day with my whole weight hanging down off them. My lower back feels like it's just about ready to snap in twain. And my tummy is still sore from the major cramps I had while visiting the vets with the in-law's gorgeously cute new puppy for his very first vaccinations. Aw, ickle fluffy white Jack the lovely West Highland Terrier. Wuffle!

Yes. And Peter has been the cutest little baby today. Very cute. Had to take Mrs B to the evil, sadochistic dental practioner today, and Peter was so cute in the waiting room he was even bringing a smile to the little old ladies waiting, I imagine, to have their one remaining tooth pulled without a drop of anaesthetic. Poor Mrs B, though. The evil-pig-fucker dentist hurt my wifey. And didn't even do the job she'd asked him to do. Pig-fucker from eastern europe! Bastard with a face mask. Cunt-head with a sharp pointy little metal gum-jabber.

I saw that very same dentist myself a few weeks back for a checkup when we registered with them. I had a busy day that day too and ate a swift and yummy pasty in the arvo. I hadn't had a moment to clean my teeth so had a little bit of pastry still nestled against my gum line when he looked at my teeth. "You see zis, here," he said, holding the mirror up and gently scraping some of my embarrasing pasty-leftovers into a nice little white pile against my very healthy pink gums, "zis is foot you haven't got wiz your brush. Do you brush up and down like zis or side to side like zis?" "Round and round, up and down and left to right," I would have replied had my mouth not been clamped open with the scary torture devices of the dental proffession. Instead I must have said "ah ah gah gah ha ah aaaah ga ag". "Yes, so," he said," you vill come back and see ze hygienist, yess, and they vill clean your teeth, yes?"

No. In short. I shall go home and brush them myself before bed and they shall be good as new. Dumb ass. I'm not paying a hygienist to brush my teeth for me. I think I can do it myself. I have been ever since I was a little boy.

Sheesh.

Peter has his own little toothbrush which he chews when he watched mummy and daddy brishing their teeth. It's very cute and he gets annoyed when we take it away. Bless.