A couple of months ago I had two cavities filled. The next day I developed a bacterial infection on my skin, and the doctor at the walk-in clinic said it was probably because my body was all “what the fuck?” after my sinus surgery and dental work. And then–and then–my teeth started hurting. After I had them filled. Even though they didn’t hurt before. Again, what the fuck?

Well, I went back to the dentist–twice. Both times he said the filled teeth were “high,” meaning they were striking each other too hard (you know–because I was using them to chew) and therefore staying inflamed. Anyway, after the second trip back to the dentist’s office (for a total of three trips altogether), the problem got–uh–better, but one of my teeth has still been sensitive to cold and room-temperature water.

So this afternoon I had an appointment to get my teeth cleaned and was not looking forward to it, I guess because I’m tired of going to the damn dentist. I mean, he’s a nice guy and all, but if we spend any more time together and he puts his fingers in my mouth one more time, I’m going to have to introduce him to my parents. Add all that to the fact that I was pissed off because his office has been harassing me with appointment reminders (I’m coming already!), and you’ll understand why I showed up today with anything but a good attitude.

But sometimes God throws you a bone. Y’all, my dental hygienist was amazing–kind, intelligent, funny–a real hoot and a half. Okay, fine, two hoots. She was that good. I’ll spare you the details, since stuff like that never comes across right when told to someone else, especially in writing. Suffice it to say she took wonderful care of me, made me laugh, AND explained what was going on with my teeth.

She said that teeth are actually alive, fed by roots. (They’re like a bunch of hard potatoes, really.) Anyway, she said that inflammation explained the problem when my bite was off, but now it was more likely that I was experiencing “normal sensitivity” due to the fact that one of my roots was ever so slightly exposed because my gum line had receded. (Hey! Get back where you belong.) So she put this vitamin compound on the root, which she said would help fortify it, give it a protective coating, and–kind of like a condom–cut down on sensitivity. (I added the part about the condom. She didn’t actually say that.)

When I left the dentist’s office, good mood restored, I met my friend Tim for a late lunch. Tim and I know each other mostly through Facebook, but he’s been a faithful and supportive reader of the blog since the beginning, so we decided to meet in person. And whereas everything went well, I’m sad to report that Tim closed his eyes for the selfie we took together. There was one photo with his eyes open, but he wasn’t smiling, so I went with smiling over open eyes because teeth are a thing today. (I hope this was the right choice. If I’d been to the eye doctor, I would have chosen the other picture.)

The rest of the day has been hit and miss. I’ve mostly been tired, and one minute I’ve been upset, and the next minute I’ve been sunshine and rainbows, even if my parents might disagree. In addition to sleep-deprivation, I’m attributing part of my mood fluctuation to working through the book I mentioned yesterday, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. One of the exercises I did earlier this evening required that I write, “I, Marcus, am a brilliant and prolific writer” ten times. I’m serious. That was in the book. The only part I added was my name, and there was a blank for that. (If you want to try it, it could be applied to any creative endeavor. You could say, “…brilliant and prolific artist, dancer, cook, or basket weaver.”)

Anyway, when I did the exercise–and this was the point–a bunch of negative thoughts came up, things like–you’re not good enough–you’re not as smart as that other guy–you’re getting too big for your britches. Well, obviously those thoughts have been lingering around in the shadows for quite a while, but when you put them down on paper, it’s like, Shit, now what?

This afternoon Tim gave me a t-shirt that had the word “writer” in the middle of it, along with a whole bunch of other words that might describe a writer or a writer’s life, things like storyteller, wordsmith, dreamer, and mystery. Honestly, in addition to being an extremely thoughtful gift, I think it came at just the right time, the same day as the assignment to make positive affirmations about myself as a writer.

I’ve been thinking this evening that labels are really important. We can pretend they’re not, but if you tell yourself every day that you’re a freaking fantastic writer, that’s going to have a dramatically different impact than if you tell yourself you’re a piece-of-shit writer. But I think it’s interesting that most of us are more comfortable with negative labels than positive ones.

Once I remember telling my therapist that sometimes I thought I was one of the best dancers in Fort Smith. She immediately said, “Probably one of the best in the state.”

“Isn’t it conceited to think that?” I said.

“No,” she said. “It’s reality. Our goal is reality. You don’t make yourself any more than you are, but you certainly don’t make yourself any less.”

This afternoon when my dental hygienist told me that my teeth were alive, I was genuinely surprised. I said, “I’ve never thought of them as alive before.” So that’s been on my mind all day, and now it makes a lot more sense to me why they’d be sensitive, why they’d get inflamed, why they’d hurt. That’s what living things do. So tonight I’ve been trying to remind myself that I’m a living thing too. I have feelings, rights, and talents like you do. I know that may seem obvious, but so many times I’ve made everyone else out to be better than I am–more talented–more worthy–that I think a little positive affirmation is a good thing. I, Marcus, am a brilliant and prolific writer. And I’m really not getting too big for my britches here. I’m just growing into them for once.

The way I see it, teeth are a small part of the body, but they’re an important part. So I think this has to be true for me, and it has to be true for all of us. Each of us, no more but certainly no less than another, plays an important part or we wouldn’t be here. Yes, each of us is brilliant and prolific when it comes to something, worthy of positive affirmation, and–above all–a dreamer, a mystery.