Highlighter Stars.

Toastie makers may make good food, but don’t be fooled, they’re vicious attacking machines. If, say, someone forgot that the plates were hot and brushed their hand against one in an attempt to put some bread in the toaster next to the toastie maker, they might end up with an injury something like this:

And if someone were stupid enough to let that happen, it would hurt. Quite a lot.

Last night I was talking to Emmy-Lou/Emma (pick whichever name you feel more comfortable with) on MSN (Windows Live Messenger just don’t have the same ring) and we were discussing these old online diaries the two of us used to keep (and are, incidentally, how we met, way back when), and we both remarked how pathetic our old selves seem.

It’s kind of sad, isn’t it, how you look back at yourself when you were younger and all you can think is how stupid you were, and how if you were in the same situation again you’d never do that again. Well, that’s what I do anyway. There’s so many things that I look back on and wonder ‘what was all the fuss about?’ I made such a big deal about things that would probably have gone away far more quickly and easily had I just let them be, without getting all het up about them.  There’s other things that I can’t figure out why I didn’t DO something about the situation, why I sat back and let it happen, yet got upset about it.
Although there’s something quite endearing about the way I wrote everything back then. Even when I was being all emo about something, I still seemed somewhat … hyper. I kind of miss that me.

An encouraging thing about remembering the past is that you realise how emotions fade. The saying that ‘time heals all wounds’ (or whatever it may be, it’s something along those lines, right?) is true. Crushes that seemed so important at the time now make me laugh at how ridiculously silly and girly I was. That’s kind of nice, for some reason.
There are still some things that I completely understand my upset over them, but they - thankfully - don’t hurt any more (except maybe in occasional moments of bitterness). I’d say I’d like to be able to go back and tell my younger self, “it’ll all turn out okay, whatever you do. And in a few weeks, or months, it won’t hurt any more.” But no, I wouldn’t want to know. The fear that you experience when you feel that you have to make the right decision to make the situation okay again, or at least bearable, is a very strong emotion. Everyone needs to experience it. It makes everyone stronger, that they had to make a decision and they came out of it okay. Maybe a little sadder, maybe a little more lonely, but they came out of it okay, and now it’s behind them.
(ssh, I know I’m being cheesy, ‘kay?)

My mother always tells me, when I’m agonising over what I should do in a situation (which is fairly frequently, because my mind and my heart have this issue about having conflicting ideals), that whatever decision I make, it’ll be the right one. I’d like to think that’s true. And - unless I suddenly find myself in a Sliding Doors-esque lifestyle -  I’m never going to know otherwise.

Everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not the end - Anonymous

I went to the dental hospital today. After waiting a mere 10 minutes for my name to be called, I went in, sat on the reclining chair, had Mr Durning peer into my mouth for a couple of seconds before announcing that my teeth were, “Fine. More than fine, in fact.”

And that was that. He handed me a piece of paper, which I took to Cynthia (oh! Cynthia, how I will miss her receptionist ‘charm’) and I was discharged.

So why is this the end of an era? After all, you may be thinking, I was being discharged as an outpatient. It’s surely not that big of a deal.
Oh, how wrong you would be.

I was referred to the dental hospital when I was 10 years old. I am now 19. In that time, I have had two operations, three teeth removed, four fixed braces, one metal retainer, two plastic retainers, one false tooth, and more moulds and x-rays than you can shake a stick at. I know the staff and the staff know me. Dental nurses wave to me when they see me. Some even come over for a chat. Even Cynthia, the battleaxe of a receptionist, has warmed to me enough to ask how university is going. I almost feel she’s sad to see me go. I’ve been a fairly consistent visitor for the past 8 years.
I’ve been to four departments within the dental hospital. I started out with students working on my teeth. I ended up with the head of orthodontics and administration. Yes, apparently my teeth were complicated.

And now, unless something happens that I need to go back for, I’m done there.

Dental Drive, I shall miss you.