Canon's Diary

Monday, September 1, 2025.
After returning from work, I finished my dinner: grilled yellowtail, a few shumai dumplings, and a ham-and-egg rice bowl. Lately, I’ve been making a conscious effort to eat more fish, thinking about balance and health. Since I rarely cook it at home, I choose fish dishes at the company cafeteria whenever they appear on the menu. There’s something calming about eating fish, though I can’t quite explain why.

On my way home I stopped at the dentist. The X-rays showed a gap between my wisdom tooth and the molar beside it, a small space where food tends to get caught, raising the risk of decay. The dentist recommended extracting both upper and lower wisdom teeth on the left side. I hesitated. Years ago, I had the ones on the right removed at a university hospital’s oral surgery department, an ordeal that felt more like a major operation than a routine treatment. This time, though, my dentist—also trained in oral surgery—assured me that techniques have advanced, and that given the way my teeth are positioned, the procedure should be relatively straightforward. Reluctantly, almost against my will, I found myself nodding. Still, a weight settled in my chest.

I was given some counseling, too. Toothpicks, I was told, can widen the gaps between teeth; interdental brushes are a better choice. And, of course, I was encouraged to keep brushing after every meal.

When I glanced at the clock, it was already nine. Outside, the sound of a Hankyu train rumbled in the distance, rattling the windows for a moment before fading away. I didn’t feel like watching television tonight. With a team tennis match in Machida scheduled for the weekend, I’ve decided to attend a lesson tomorrow after work. Turning over my service motion in my head, I poured myself a small glass of Scotch. And in that quiet way, another ordinary day drew to a close.