Teeth.
Nightmares evolving around my teeth are a familiar sort, unlike others I’ve written about before. People say that dreams about one’s teeth falling out are a sign of fear of ageing. This might be the case for me, though the in the nightmares, my teeth usually don’t just fall out but crumble away. So I’m linking them more to an anxiety of everything about me going to the dogs—my body, my life, my options, hopes and desires.
A little earlier today, I happened to consciously touch the inside of my incisors with my tongue and to register that they were all in place and accounted for. And this triggered a feeling of surprise.
Why should it have? After all, I knew that I wasn’t missing my upper right front tooth, the one my tongue was expecting to be replaced by a gaping hole. It is dead alright, and slightly discoloured—I blame a bicycle crash that happened when I was 14 or so and landed me on my face; but it’s still there.
I could even recall my face sporting the gap that never was, and my heart contracting in distress at the possibility of losing a tooth in such an inexplicable and visible way, and my apprehension about the possibility of getting an artificial replacement. And this recollection felt all like a recent memory.
The only explanation: I must have dreamt it last night.