I imagine my life as very
interesting. It’s like old pictures, how they go back and add color to them. I
remember this picture from my eighth grade history textbook, with a bunch of
suffragists protesting for the vote, and there was a baby in a stroller. They
had added blue eyes and rosy cheeks, but it really just made the baby look
feverish. Sometimes I do that to my life. For example, if I go to a restaurant
and there’s a really cute waiter, I might create this story in my head, like
he’s secretly in love with me or something. It’s quite pathetic really.
So
I suppose the point of this rambling explanation is this: know ahead of time
that the majority of what I tell you probably didn’t happen. And it most
definitely didn’t happen the way I think.
