A mighty blow.

Hey,

Okay, tomorrow is D Day (Again).

Wisdom tooth removal here I come.

This whole situation has just been really weird, because every time I get my hopes up about getting my fucking teeth out, I get denied. It's so harsh, man. I think Alli put it best, it's like I'm a little kid looking up waiting to get punched in the face.

Here is a story that reflects what I've been through, and what will come.

Immediately after storming into the trailer from a hard day at the steel mill, Dad walked into the house, infureated with the fact that yet again, his wife was spending the night in someone else's bed. The whore never seemed to be around when he needed to releive a day's worth of stress.

He looked around the apartment, and saw Billy. Dad shouted, "Billy, I got somethin' for ya," as he waved his fist in the air. A gleeful child, Billy's childish ignorance didn't allow him to see the malcious grin on his father's face for much more than an endearing smile. Daddy must have been hiding something cool in his fist.
"Oooh, what is it daddy," five-year-old Billy asked, with hope and stars in his eyes. Dad leaned down in front of Billy's face and spoke softly, yet coldly, "I'm going to punch you in the face, you little bastard!" Billy's expression of hope and childish desire turned sour and fearful as he shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth and turned his face to the side with anticipation of the blow to come. His eyelids turned bright pink and a tear struggled to stay within his as he tried desparetly to protect the brown eyes he hid underneath them.
"No," Dad told him, "Not now. You're not even worth me putting my fucking fist to your cheek yet, you little pussy." Dad sat in his favorite chair (the only chair in the trailer that wasn't either lopsided or had a broken nail in the back of the seat) and chuckled to himself.
"I'll get'cha later, and that's a prommise. Now you go get me a cold drink before I change my mind."

Billy ran to the kitchen and searched through a rusted metal cabinet for a not so dusty Dixie cup to pour the last of his father's liquor into. He turned the cup upside down and shook what seemed to be the remains of a daddy long-legs out of it. The dead spider made a soft tap as it hit the faded yellow kitchen tiles, that might have been white once, before billy was born.

Billy poured every last drop of whiskey into the dixie cup, and walked it carefully back to his father, not spilling a drop. "Here daddy," Billy said, not quite sure if he was looking forward the prommise his father had made earlier, but he believed he was prepared.
"Good," Dad said, in a suprisingly pleased tone as he grasped the cup from Billy and took a hasty sip, spilling some of the whisky on himself. "Goddamnit boy," Dad said, spitting, as the whisky hit his throat. "This is the fucking hard stuff, I don't want this shit, I asked you for a beer!"
Dad tossed the cup accross the room, getting some of it on the telivision, and stood up, looming over billy. Billy knew what was coming and shut his eyes, and prepared for the blow.
"My son is a fucking girl who can't follow instructions! I told you I wanted a Beer!"
Billy opened his eyes momentarily just to see his father's fist rearing back for a good hit to the side of Billy's jaw. But his father stopped.
"I ain't gonna fuckin' hit you, boy," he said calmly. "Just get me a goddamn beer."
Billy ran to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a cold beer. He brought the beer to his father, who took it from him, and drank the entire thing in what seemed to be one huge gulp.

"Ahhh. That's what I wanted, damnit!"
Billy looked up at his father, almost pleased that his father had enjoyed his beverage. Billy finally began to feel at ease, and started to smile when....

He woke up, hours later. A throbbing pain traveled throughout the left side of his face.

His father was a man of his word.

love and adoration,

pam