I had that dream again.

You know, the one where all your teeth are falling out?

Yeah, that one.

I mean, we all have that dream. All the time. Sometimes, our teeth crumble like dust. Maybe quickly or maybe over what seems like weeks. Other times, our teeth fall out one by one, the first one wiggling for a good long while, but the others tumbling afterwards like candy from a Pez dispenser.

Everybody knows what the teeth-falling-out dream means: Insecurity, helplessness, fear of abandonment, blah, blah, blah. The standard stuff.

One thing I’ve noticed about all my teeth-dreams is that my mum and dad are always there. I know that sounds horribly childish, but there it is.

There’s something about parents that reassures you that, despite losing all your teeth, they’ll still be there for you. Alas, your friends and lovers may desert you, but never good ol’ mummy. Plus dad, in his infinite wisdom, will always know what to do with your dental situation, even if all you have left is a mouthful of dust.

Anyways, mine started with the molar.

It hadn’t fallen out yet, but it was wiggling pretty damn persistently. But then I ran my tongue over some other teeth and noticed they were wiggling too.

Panic-stricken, I ran downstairs and found my dad. He was just about to leave.

“Dad,” I pleaded like a five-year-old, “My teeth are falling out! What do I do?”

Dad, in all his practical ways, pulled out a bottle of superglue from his pocket and grinned.

“You apply some of this when it falls out,” he said. “Press for forty to sixty seconds and allow to dry in a cool place.”

Luckily, I managed to realize that was pretty shitty advice.

So I just ran back upstairs and waited.

The molar came out. Eventually.

I noticed as I held it that it was larger than usual — about the size of half my palm.

Then I looked up at the mirror and grinned.

That’s when they all fell out.

Every damn one.

And then I woke up.

Every day, when I wake up, I weigh the pros and cons of,

Lately, it’s always been A, A, and A, you know?

Work is more important, I guess.

But then I started thinking: On Saturdays or Sundays — a day like today — when nobody comes in, why not work at the office in a pant-free environment?

Is the minimal, inconsequential risk of being caught, humiliated, and made the departmental weirdo not worth the carnal delights of smooth, non-chafed buttocks and the opportunity to feel the crisp, cool air on your loins — all the while doing earth-shattering mathematical research?

Your call, dear readers.

Having just arrived back in Oxford after my week long stay in Ottawa, I’m tired.

Tired and not in the mood for deep discussions about everything 2007 was or wasn’t to me. And so here I am, spending the winding moments of 2007 in my room, eating oatmeal, listening to the distant fireworks and church bells blaring in the background, and writing to you.

The funny thing is, it doesn’t feel like the New Year. Having just left Ottawa and in full recognition that over there, the New Year doesn’t really happen for another four hours or so, I’m left wondering, where’s my New Year?

Do I even get one?

But no deep thoughts tonight, remember?

2007 was a year of change.

To say that nothing happened would be a gross understatement. I received half a dozen scholarships, got my Master’s, was briefly famous, taught maths in Kenya, moved to another country, published a paper, and the list goes on.

Oh, and then I met Anna Stern.

It’s been a turbulent year. A flashy, glitzy year.

In fact, I can’t help but think that this just might be the peak to my otherwise uneventful and unassuming life to follow.

So with all of this happening, why is it then that I feel hollow and empty? These things…these accomplishments and supposedly joyous occasions simply whiz by. I work hard, but when it’s time to collect, I just shrug and say, “meh”.

By then, anyways, I’ve moved on to the next task at hand.

A few weeks ago, I asked a friend what he was planning to do after graduating.

“Are you considering a Master’s?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said casually.

“You know the deadline for scholarships has passed,” I said.

“Oh”.

He could not have sounded less concerned.

“Maybe a job?” I asked.

He shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not really worried what happens after graduating,” he explained. “The thing is, I’m happy right now. Life is great. Friends and family are great. If I get a graduate position, great — if not, I’ll graduate and just see what happens.”

I was surprised at that. Perplexed, even.

But more than that, I was jealous.

I’ve never been able to say that. I’ve never been able to say, “I’m happy right now”.

Because it’s never now. I’ve always ran with aspirations of big payoffs in the future. But these big payoffs — haven’t they happened already?

Wasn’t this year — 2007 — the year it happened?

So I ask you, dear readers, why am I still running?

Thank you for all the support, guys. You know who you are.

One of my most beloved high school teachers passed away very suddenly on the weekend. I know it sounds absurd to say that I’m feeling at my lowest right now. It feels selfish. As if somehow I’m more important than any of her close, personal friends or god forbid, her husband of only a year.

But if you’ve read A Tale of Three Mugs you’d know how important high school was to me. So important that last night, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to sleep because it felt like a part of my past was gone. Poof. Just like that.

And suddenly, I was left grasping for memories that were no longer there.

I know, god, I know I wasn’t the only one. Hundreds of other students are mourning; friends and family by the dozen. I feel wrong. Self-centered. As if now, there’s nothing left of her but these tiny crumbs. And I’m just greedily lapping them up — not thinking that other students, other family and friends — better ones than me — they may be suffering as well. But I just can’t help it. I loved her.

I’ve handled death in the past. Three funerals in the last three years. But this one is the hardest to bear.

Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I was supposed to finish school and then return, so I could see the expression on her face. You know? That expression when she’d realized I’d finally done what I’d set out to do all those years ago. But now none of that’s going to happen.

She’ll never, ever know.

Words cannot express how sad I am right now.

Don’t expect much for the next — whenever.

If anybody wants to e-mail me just to let me know — ‘No, the world isn’t at an end’, I would be eternally grateful.