The Treehouse + The Cave

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Thursday, August 04, 2005

Touching Teeth

I abandoned habitual nail biting in the 9th grade, 6 years later picking up another nasty habit: a regularly clenched jaw.

I'm sure people notice. My masseters plump like the fetal pig from which I learned the term. Two tense discs worn like makeup.

I could attribute it to stress; to anxiety inborn; to months of MDMA; the need for a cigarette; fear; anger; tetanus. All logical deductions unable to assist in dampening its eventual reemergence.

I only loosen up when I notice I might look mean, immediately ceasing the squeeze. My conscious thoughts always trumping the subliminal need for subtle pressure.

My teeth come apart with a little resistance, a little stick. Like a glass left covered in condensation and later lifted from the table once dry, with a click.

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