And Nothing But the Tooth

I chipped a tooth in my sleep last night. Bottom, back-left. You know how some of your molars have rising and falling ridges--like a miniature Wasatch front around the rim? One of the highest peaks is gone, which left a big hole--vacuity, the thesaurus says--and a rough edge, and my tongue keeps poking at it, almost like it's hoping it can wear it smooth. I hope so too.

This is a striking reminder of my mortality. That part of my tooth will never be there again.

This confirms that I'm grinding. My jaw has been very sore for the last three days. I've got to de-stress. I probably swallowed it.