You start thinking. It could be something culturally mundane. (Those who don’t like Chuck Klosterman’s writing after reading him probably started with Killing Yourself to Live.) Or personally mundane (Could I get Maroney for Chad Johnson?) But if you’re as ADD as I can get and playing at security guarding by a highway, you can stumble backwards into some lame self-awareness kick.
And point of fact, I hit that lame self awareness kick today. I realized that I’m normal. Soul-crushingly, mind-numbingly normal. I may effort at idealism, but it shrinks into perfectionism and unbounded fuckery. I’m a lot luckier then I’m aware.
(If you think I’m a dick now? Imagine if I was born one day earlier. I would have had to suffer shitty birthday pranks for going on 18 years.)
But here’s the thing. If I’m normal? How batcrap nuts are you?
You’d write for hate mail if you had a chance.
