Pain and Pleasure or Why Should de Sade Have All the Fun?

19th century novels are interesting in one way: a lot of them have titles like "J. Lo's Big Bottom or What A Great Nickname Fanny Is." But they can be a dreadful read, at least some of them. I guess when you're paid by the word as Dickens was, it helps to be a walking thesaurus.

For me, right now life is a mixture of pain and pleasure. The main source of pain is my tooth. Every time I drink something cold, I get this sharp pain in my tooth. I suspect it's a cracked filling. Yep, nothing lasts, not even a filling. What makes this even more fun is as a deaf person, I can't just call the dentist and get in pronto. I have to go through the whole rigamarole of scheduling an interpreter. When I called to see if I could get in and get pleasure back in my life (there's nothing like being able to drink some lemonade without wincing every two seconds), I was initially given a date a week after I called. Eh, better than nothing. Just a few seconds later, I was told that due to policies, interpreting needed ten days notice, and I have to wait til Valentine's Day. Nice. A day of pleasure will be my day of pain. Then again, Valentine's Day is like that for a lot of people: pain mixed with pleasure.