Tootbrush Blues

Growing up, my parents had a difficult time getting me to brush my teeth. At most, they could make me brush once a day, as part if the morning routine to get ready for school. I never brushed on weekends.

As I entered middle school, my parents were working and had less time to monitor an increasingly self-sufficient little girl’s morning routine. Cirno would always tell me to brush, with his usual, “learn from my mistakes” preaching, but I ignored him.

It’s now been nearly four years since I brushed my teeth regularly. I’ve only done it three or four times, when my grandma forced me to. All the while, I just didn’t give a damn, and my parents never remembered to schedule any dentist appointments until just recently.

I was surprised when the dentist told me that even after four years of not brushing, I had no cavities! This was particularly shocking because as a kid, when I did brush (however haphazardly), I got a ton of cavities.

I have a theory about this. I think that if you stop brushing long enough, maybe your teeth build a protective coat. Kind of like how your body can have “good germs” that combat its “bad germs.” That’s the only way I know how to explain it. A couple of people I’ve shared this idea with said it was absolute nonsense, but they don’t know shit, so I’ll wait ’till someone who actually knows about this stuff says the same.

Of course, I don’t have any science to back my idea either. I don’t try to use it as an excuse not to brush my teeth–the only reason for that is, “I don’t care.” But when I look at how I’ve never met anyone who takes this approach to teeth-brushing, I do kind if feel like a pioneer.

Intrigue of Chris Holy

Lately I have a lot of computer problems. My friend Chris Holy is good with computers, which is funny because of his unassuming appearance (snuck in the morning announcement’s word of the day ’cause I’m cheesy like that). If you met Chris, you’d probably think he was just some cool, normal guy. Always well-dressed, popular with the girls (sans present company) and generally a great personality. What makes it interesting is that everyone likes him. At first glance, that would be the gold crown on his marty studom–but no, it’s interesting because he hangs out with so many people who would want nothing to do with one-another. Regular kids in the general public of friends, to the extent that he’s also part of a landbridge between the black and white groups; goth hipsters; turbo nerds; and even the total island loners like me. (Well, I guess if I have friends then I can’t be a true island. A peninsula maybe?)

They say a Jack of all trades is a master of none, but Chris makes me wonder anout that. I wonder where, at our age, he found time to gather so much knowledge. When I ask, he says he learns it all from the internet, but I feel like there’s a bigger, more meaningful answer that maybe he can’t put into words yet. Or maybe we aren’t close enough friends yet. Or I haven’t opened him up yet.

But I wonder why it is that he hangs out with me. I have no concept of how much time he spends hanging out in general. If he’s at my place once a week, then when does he find time for all those other many friends? Am I the one he spends the most time with? His best friend? I wonder if among all those friends he has in all those groups, am I the only one who stands on my own, or could it be that he’s found other islands to build bridges to?

14 Year-Olds Suck

I asked my brother Cirno what I should do about being bored all the time.

“Why don’t you start writing a book? Isn’t that the thing you’re always saying you’re gonna do when you grow up?”

“One of them. But I’m not grown up! I have to go to school, how can I write a book?”

“One page at a time, day to day, as much as you can, whenever you have time, et cetera.”

“But writing comes from life experience, right? And I don’t have any of that.”

“Well, first of all, no, it doesn’t have to, and also, of course you do.”

“Tch. Please. I’m fourteen.”

“Okay. Write about being fourteen. Most people spend roughly a year being fourteen, so it’s plenty relatable.”

“Ugh. But fourteen year-olds suck!”

“Then write about how much fourteen year-olds suck.”

“…are you serious?”

“It’s something. You’ve always gotta be writing something if you want to be a writer. It takes ten years of doing something constantly to really master it. You might as well get started young. The better you actually get before you graduate high school, better chance you have of getting published before you’ve spent five years doing something even more time-consuming than school and still trying to get a book written. I’ve been down that road, trust me.”

“Oh bullcrap. A, you’re only twenty, and B, you’ve never done anything hard.”

Then he placed his hand on my head and said, “just write a damn book.”

“Ughh, fine.”