The tooth still aches, unbearably, then bearably, the inner workings of my own mouth gaslighting me as I mix the pancake batter. I wait for the stream of molasses to fill the one-fourth cup, tilting my head to secure a bag of ice between jaw and shoulder. I don’t have time for pain today, but pain is not interested in my Monday. Trying to keep the yogic maxims flowing strong through my conscious until the dentist tomorrow, I tie the ice to my head, a Dickens extra. Breathe, I tell myself, and the bowl falls, spilling batter across the floor.
Meghan Healy lives, works, and makes breakfast in Albuquerque, New Mexico.