Hop out of bed in Brighton at half six and into the car. Hard drive back to London and almost as far as home before stationary traffic South of Wandsworth Bridge tells me I’ll never make it to the dentist on time if I go home first. Reoroute and pay congestion charge. Off to the dentist – Ego Dental Clinic. No drilling but a filling. The last version came out stuck to some food two days ago. Tasted kind of nice. Lead and mercury. Yum. Oh to be young again.
Coated from head to foot in sterile plastic and having filled in a form in so much detail that I’ve learnt something about myself, I finally lie on the seat of horror.
Squidge squodge scrape scrape and that’s a dentist with over £150 in his pocket before 10 in the morning. I’ll be driving 8 hours tomorrow for less than he made in 20 minutes. Still, at least I won’t be in pain from my tooth, but we need a more permanent solution before too long. The dentist wants to crown them because then he can buy another house, but money money oh money money you elusive little vixen you, I will tempt you to come and play with me for good, but right now I’ve got to pay all my service charge and council tax and bills with a wounded industry and nobody renting the spare room until I can get some work done on it. Fuck. Real life is hard, even when you have lots of nice things already. I am so glad I’ve got a high level of basic privilege. Even then it’s worrying.
But I will find a way to crown my damn teeth with GOLD.
Home from the dentist, build greenscreen – getting good at it now. Do some acting. Book a job driving to Cardiff. Am I even allowed to drive to Cardiff? The van is booked so I’ll find out tomorrow when I get arrested on the Severn Bridge. Drive to Bond Street. See Brian briefly. Get laughed at. Smile with my newly fixed teeth. Realise they’re invisible behind the only mask I own that’s too big for me to easily lose.
Contemplate a bath. Decide against it as it’s full of smoke damaged busts again and I’ll need to scrub them as I remove them. Set alarm for 5am and cook Paella. Write blog. Fall asleep. Dream. Win the lottery.
This feels like it used to. I’ve got loads to do at home, but the next few days are going to be a slew of semi-random little varied jobs either being creative or being run off my feet or driving or carrying things. Right now it’s not ten and I’m gonna have camomile tea and fall over. Happy October. White Rabbits and all that.
AlBarclay 