I must find a way to deal with this dental situation. I must tell the Peace Corps doctor that I have serious concerns about some of the techniques this dentist follows. I simply cannot allow him to dive into my mouth and do thousands of dollars worth of work just because the coffers are open to any and all comers.
I'm about to have a freaking nervous breakdown all over the next person that crosses my path. Then of course Divine Providence hands me a marshutney mate like the one I had last night. He offered to trade seats with me on the long ride from Yerevan to Vardenis, giving me his "good" seat and taking instead the rickety stool I was sitting on in the aisle. He was clearly having a difficult time emotionally as we proceeded along our route. We had a little conversation - as much as we could with my halting Armenian and his halting English - but as we passed through one minor Hell to another he lifted his head from where it was resting on the back of the seat in front of him and said, "Armenia no good. America good, yes? Armenia no good." Good people stuck in a nightmare that they can't escape. Some of them go mad.
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