Various Forms of Torture

My dentist called this morning to tell me it was time for another cleaning. As if I don't have enough torture in my life right now! He must be planning another cruise in the Caribbean. Either that or the wife is having another one of her chins lifted. I told him he'd have to wait until I finish my installation; I can just take so much abuse. I sorta get why he needs to plan ahead, though. They need to lay in a good supply of nitrous oxide for my appointments, seeings how I make them turn it on the minute I walk through the door. And then there's the fleet of dump trucks that have to be called in to haul away my plaque. It would probably be easier for everyone if I found a dentist near a landfill–will have to look into that.

I'm now one week into my installation, and it's starting to take shape. Whatever that means. The line of type has run around the gallery once, and the sacred circle has been created. So now I'm on my second lap, and the two lines (which in fact are just one line) are playing off from each other. It's....um...."interesting". See that ladder above? That's where I was perched for the better part of the day. To the left of the ladder, on the wall, you can see the lines of type. When it reaches the end of the wall, it runs up the edge, then onto the ceiling, across the doorway, and down the other side. It would be physically challenging no matter what, even if I was laying on a bed of fluffy goose down, with Brad Pitt cradling my head and George Clooney sucking my toes. But they're not, and then there are those satanic pipes, placed there to mock my efforts. I'm telling you, I'd never have done this had I known what was in store. It's sheer lunacy, and if ever there was a time for me to turn to atheism, this would be it. As fate would have it, I really suck at godlessness.

So onward ho. I'm up to chapter seven, where Saint John (my man) enumerates the twelve tribes of Israel. Yup, and when I reached the tribe of Zebulon, I grabbed that capital "Z" with my x-acto blade, and while attempting to stick it to the ceiling, the Z fell off the blade and slowly fell to the floor, waving cheerfully at me as it drifted past my inverted head. Now, this happens all the time. Dropping letters, I mean. But I got smart and laid in a back-up supply, that way I don't have to crawl down off my ladder for a friggin' vowel every five minutes. But I didn't plan on dropping this particular letter. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a capital Z in the Koran? Keeping in mind that I've already harvested a full crop of them? Oh baby. That teeth cleaning is starting to sound like a vacation.

The other thing that I've discovered is that when you're upside down, your eyesight is worse. I kid you not. There must be some science to support this. You know that expression "blind as a bat?" I'm thinking that the way they got blind was by hanging upside down for extended periods. Don't quote me on this; I just wanted to record my prescient reflections for future generations.

As far as my level of physical pain, well, it's like when you ask a woman in impossibly high heels if she's comfortable. "Do I look good?" she asks. "You look fabulous!" you reply. "Then I'm comfortable!" she says. That's how I feel right about now. Except that I don't yet know if it looks fab. I'll have to get back to you on that. Right now I'm too busy combing the Koran for a capital Z.

Above: My torture chamber du jour. Each session I like to up the ante on the torment. Anyone know where I can find an album of Helen Reddy's Greatest Hits?