And probably absent-mindedly in my wake as well. Because the enamel is wearing off my teeth at the points where they grind. And the poor things are being rocked back in forth in their sockets, as evidenced by my microscopically receding gumlines.
All this I learned from my dentist last month. He recommended I get a custom-fitted mouth thing to wear to bed to prevent further grinding damage. But I know I would never wear it, so I declined.
And now I’m all paranoid that I’m just one fitful nap away from becoming a stump-toothed old man who feels compelled to stalk the CTA ranting about … oh, I don’t know … the End of Times or FBI mind-control hats or how women really should avoid bangs.
And now as my tongue floats around in my mouth attending to its appointed tongue responsibilities, it keeps finding horrifying new evidence of my teeth’s imminent demise. For instance! The backs of the bottoms of my two top front teeth feel sandpapery, as though the enamel has been worn down to a mere memory of its former shiny self! And my molars feel wobbly! Especially when I obsess about them! And once in a while when I drink cold water, it feels … cold!
Oh, the humani … um … teeth!