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February 5, 2016
My dentist tells me that if I want to have any gums to speak of in my older age, I need to stop brushing so hard. I am guilty of this.

Especially at night, toothbrush in hand, demoralized by the hundred crooked ambiguities of the day, here is something wholesome and pure, and maybe through self-sacrifice and effort I can grind and abrade my way to peace; the fluoride, a cleansing flame, will purge me of my sins and allow me the sleep of the innocent, and I go to work with more than the average level of gusto.