i can just imagine the amount of times people have wished death upon me, and, in comparison to all other harmless endeavors into the realm of fine print and possible implications of the pessimistic kind, speaking in terms of the teenager, of course, tomorrow holds the greatest chance of any "yet to be discovered and taken" wishes of that nature to come true. At nine of the clock in the a.m., I will be drilled four times, speaking not of sexual purposes, but of the oral surgery we seem to all incur at this epoch in our seemingly purposeless lives--the dreaded, yet relieving, painful, yet inspiring pulling of the wisdom teeth.

you laugh at the principle, a man dying from oral surgery, but wouldn't it be ironic if people's wishes came true?

yes, known to me personally, are the odds of my words becoming ironically faceted in truth, despite the tone of the phrases in which you are reading now; words which are, well, taken in jest, but hard to ingest when considered in literal terms, meaning, boy, it'd be a hell of a kick in the groin for harmless wishes upon a man unknowing of the distaste and desire to harm, which permeates the air to his back ever so silently, to come true, speaking, no less, from my point of view, though, that doesn't necessarily mean feelings of mutuality aren't present from parties other than the party of one i call myself.

being myself can do nothing but better the odds for complication, which only enables the fluttering of dead butterflies in a stomach already weakened by the fear and anxiety insued upon a self which takes things seriously so mistakenly often, while castrating the very protrusion of optimism relating to such an episode, for luck in its simple sense is found not often in the cycle of events which encircles me.

since, now it is established that a complication as complicated as death is near, if not in fact, impossible, let's think of how ironic it would be, were the impossibility false. i can hear the surgeon now: "oh, my, i've dropped the already severed tooth down the throat of this young man," or "wait, no, don't inject him again, nurse, after i've already told you not to twice. oh, you already did? that's a shame. goodbye, fair boy, with skin so non-haggard, wrinkle-free and deprived of age. i wonder if he was liked?"

"i wonder if he was liked," huh? good question, doc. i wonder. i still wonder. after establishing a circuit of love and understanding with a group, call it a clique or a social circle, or even dare call them "friends," as worthy as my own, i still wonder, am i liked, and, if so, by whom, by not whom, and why does such disliking occur and recur by the "whom" in question? oh, but that thought has passed, for i shouldn't care, right? the possibility that a quartile of a life may have been lived as a lie should surely have no bearing on myself and who i aspire to be, correct? perhaps, but, to think again, "why," surely, i have imperfections, starting with the fact that my jaw is petite in its size, for room for four teeth is not of the abundance, and a bun dance can't even lengthen my smile and change the size. that's one imperfection; shall i list the others present? for reasons of the obvious, i won't, however. the obvious reason being it will only spark new imperfections in view of others towards me, for everyone has one imperfection, in my eyes, and ironically enough in itself, it just so happens to be the ability to spot others' imperfections. so, go on, if you will, and take this cue to find what's wrong in me, while denying yourself the attempt to fix what's wrong in you. go on, and, even if you aren't the best at finding flaw in those who aren't you, don't fret, for it's all about having fun. and fun at someone else's expense is well spent.

a wisdom tooth. what a name for such a nuisance. and i'm losing them tomorrow, but the question will remain after the answer has been lost: is it the wisdom or the tooth that is gone?