Sometimes, my father has lunch with Randy “The Natural” Couture.
And sometimes, Randy Couture asks my dad to teach him how to shoot guns.
And invites him to Hollywood premieres.
And my dad shrugs and says, “I don’t really like California.”
And I just sit there going….
Will I ever be as cool as my dad?
Well… not out. I have one piece left. But it’s the gum that you gave me and I’m too superstitious. If I chew that gum, there will be nothing left of you but what’s in my head. As much as I pretend I just want to erase you completely, I can’t. I have to have one small thing, because if that disappears, then you’ll disappear too. None of it will have been real and all my fears will be confirmed. That I made the whole thing up in my head. Everything we had.
And then I’ll be chewing even more gum than I already am.
Gum keeps me from having a nervous breakdown. It occupies my brain just enough so that my mind won’t wander too far and with all the caffeine that I’ve needed from not sleeping, I’m too jittery. I need something to fiddle with.
I feel like I’m hanging from the edge of a cliff by the tips of my fingers, and the world keeps lighting matches and throwing them at my hands.
I like small animals, landing a solid left hook and daydreaming. I am about as socially awkward as they come. I am unoriginal, marginally intelligent and sometimes vaguely interesting.
None of this information is relevant to what you will encounter here.
