I was grinding my teeth frequently about two years ago. It had actually peaked with waking up in the morning to a gritty film in my mouth. That’s what I was calling “tooth dust.” As disgusting as it sounds, trust me, it’s twenty times worse for the person who has to sleep with it. My lovely wife has said that it sounds like mice are circling the bed and that it’s so loud, it can wake her from a dead sleep. I don’t even know it’s happening. She woke me up last night with a light nudge, saying, “Baby, you’re grinding your teeth.” It’s been a long time since I heard those words.
When I was last grinding, we discovered many things about my day-to-day life. I was stressed. Under-exercised. I was drinking entirely too much coffee. My lovely wife researched my caffeine intake and determined that I was consuming close to three times the max recommended daily intake of coffee all before 08:00. Since then, I’ve locked in on a “leave work on time” regiment where I don’t stay far past 17:15 daily. I’ve taken up running. And I’ve cut back my coffee intake to two mugs a day.
Yet, last night, I grind.
I guess the mouthguard’s coming back. I hate that thing, but I like having teeth and want to avoid looking like a High Plains meth addict (crystalis methodis panhandlis). The worst part of all of this is that this episode comes only days before a visit to the dentist on Thursday to talk about, of all things, a broken tooth.
Maybe it’s the stress of a new baby internalizing itself in my psyche. Could be work stress. This is typically my season of heightened stress. People are out of office. Summer work is when people “check out.” They nap at their desks. Surf a lot of internet. Productivity sags and I usually do my best to push it along.
I have been trying to prepare myself for the jarring experience of having a newborn in the house. Early morning runs on six hours of sleep and no caffeine. Coffee comes after a run. I want to train my body to do it and do it naturally. Work off of natural energy. However little or less there is. So far, so good. Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning with Wade the Gazelle. Saturday possibly solo. Saturday mornings are lonely. No one wants to pop outta bed at 05:30 on a Saturday morning to go jog. Don’t blame them really. Soon, however, I might not have a choice of whether or not I want to get out of bed at ungodly hours.
It’ll all work out, but sucks knowing that I already bought myself another root canal. Opening the hood for your dentist is proving to be stressful enough. Even more stressful when you’re doc’s name is T. Pendergrass. Miles Davis is our obigen and T. Pendergrass is my dentist. Now, I need to meet a nurse named Billy Ocean.