Just tell them that you’re supposed to die when you reach their age.
Just another shitty year, isn’t it?
Like I always say, there’s never enough shit in life.
Any chance that’s a non-me human thing, not just women’s thing?
Babies getting out of womb. Cries. Maturity milestone.
Infants being pushed out of their mothers’ womb and cry like hell in the first moment of their lives. And that moment is celebrated over and over again for the rest of their lives.
I remember my first birthday damn well, for explicable reason.
I remember the old house before it was demolished. The old creaky grey gates. That small tiny yard. The living room cleared of tables and couches to make room for guests on the floor. Chopsticks and bowls being laid out over newspaper. My twin cousins.
Me wearing the red-accented white tank, crawling. The stuffed fluffy dog that got badly stained on the years after. Might be still in the store room somewhere that I have forgotten about.
For something 20 years old, it is unexpectedly vivid. Like Tengo with visions of his mother. Who would have thought that a surrealistic thriller’s protagonist would be so relatable?
Bizarre, yes, but not irrational. Would explain a lot of who I have been. Memories of dates. My obsession with birthday cards. The joy of shipping a gift across the continent. The over appreciation of wishes. The hate of Facebook reminders. The anguish and resentment over care-free confidantes’ heartbreaking forgetfulness.
Especially the last part. Make sense, don’t they?
Who would have thought a date with Lara Croft and Max Payne would be the best shot for the evening?
Drowning in unrealities have never been exactly parts of the book, but chessy ex-cop who lost his wife and daughter and a murderous good-looking explorer became irresistible following rejected calls and lost shots. They don’t betray. They don’t disappoint. They aren’t late for dates and don’t stand up anyone. And last time it was checked, videogames were still cheaper than airport’s duty-free boozes and alcohol.
And here I am, with James McCaffrey’s voice running through my head, reading off texts of an in complete manuscript without a beginning, without an end, trying to make it feel like a bloody noir fantasy.
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