High me thinks this is a great idea. Except that I have a bottle of Topo Chico sitting RIGHT NEXT TO MY LAPTOP. Oh dear cat, I’m such an anxious nerd. Even high on, I had to get up to look at the box to remember the name of it, Apple Jack. But before I made it back to my computer, I decided to take a photo of my son’s Mario Doll. But not just a photo of my son’s Mario Doll, a photo of him eating pudding to send to my son’s dad’s phone so he could show my son. Not only that, but I then decided that I need to eat a snack. It’s only 11am, but maybe an early lunch type snack. So, I made frozen waffles. While they were cooking in the microwave, yes, the microwave, I sang a song to my cat. Because I had decided that I didn’t need a fork this time, I would then sing to my cat a song that went like this, “I don’t need no fork! I don’t need no fo-ork! I don’t need no fork!” My cat did not appreciate this song. When I finally came back to my computer, I noticed that after all of that, I didn’t bother to move my Topo. Also, I technically forgot the name of the strain I was smoking and had to go look at the box ONE MORE TIME until just now. Now it’s time for sticky fingers covered in honey.
“Yo, Howdy, Who am I?” I wrote to my friend Shane.
“I’m going to need a book agent by this time next year. Wait, is that going to be enough writing?” I thought to myself. Suddenly, the pressure mounted. I’D CREATED A PROJECT, DAMMIT, AND NOW I HAD TO COMMIT TO IT 1000%!!!
Next I had to get it into book formatting. I don’t know when I learned this formatting, probably … oh yeah, I’ve tried to write a book before and it was a COMPLETE DISASTER.
Who am I?
I searched for “average book length” on Google and OH MY CAT it’s 100,000 words. And I only had 384 completed. It’s doomed.
I need another puff, clearly.
My thoughts are interesting, DAMMIT. Goes back to erase the “GO” out of dammit. Because I don’t believe in god. See that? Lowercase. God does not exist in the real world. I do believe he exists in the minds of certain people, but that doesn’t make him real at all. There, now you know what I stand for.
What else do I stand for? Donuts! And I don’t have any! And now I’m too high to drive! DOWNSIDE!
“July 25, 2020, July 25, 2020, July 25, 2020!” It was a lovely song I’d just written just for myself.
And now I have a cat sitting on the desk next to me. I think I’ll move over to the couch so I can watch something on Netflix. Cool? Cool.
Okay, here’s a sad part. Here’s a point in time where I would love to order delivery, but I can’t afford to. Why can’t I afford to do it? Because I need to pay for a tip. The tip alone is worth at least 50% the cost of the food. Because the delivery driver deserves to earn a living wage. Why is living wage a problem? Because of greedy CEOs who pay themselves millions while paying the people at the bottom less than they can possibly live on, so much less that many Americans work 2 if not 3 jobs at a time.
I took another huff of sweet, sweet Apple Jack. Is that what it was called?
Waffles are a lot like donuts. I’ll have some more waffles.
Before I made it to the freezer, I stopped to feed the cats. I thought to myself, “How do I remember all of this before I get back to the computer?” Oh, and I’m not going to shower tonight.
As I placed the waffles in the microwave, I thought to myself, “Shit, how do I make sure my kid doesn’t know I’m high when he comes to pick up his Mario doll?” And, “How do I remember all of this and type it out before my waffles get stiff?”
That’s when I imagined a publisher reading this and thinking to themselves, “She is legit crazy, like c-r-a-z-y. Should I tell her?”
Four waffles drenched in honey hit the spot better than 2 did. Oh yeah.
I took another huff of Apple Jack.
Boy, that’s some nice stuff.
Parallel independent creation. What if I’m a fraud. What if someone across the world decides to write a book in this exact same format? That would holy suck major dick. Yeah, because sucking dick would be the worst thing in the world. I said it. I‘m a lesbian.
Guess I hadn’t mentioned that yet. Atheist. Lesbian. She’s going to hell. If Satan had been real, he’d be party town and yes, I want with that.
939 words. That’s about 1,000. 100,000/1000=100. But before I figured that out I received texts from Shane saying, “You’re my friend, silly. One of my dearest people!”
And now the screen was skewing, making itself skinnier at the center of my vision, and wider furthest away. And all I could think about was donuts.
So, 100 days of work. Then yes, life would become a whole new thing after writing this thing.
“I’m high as balls” I wrote Dani. “lol” she wrote back.
I’m spiraling. I’m finally understanding what that truly feels like. It’s like, I’m thinking I’m “high as balls” and that repeats itself. Over and Over. “high as balls” “high as balls” “high as balls” “high as balls” “high as balls” “high as balls” “high as balls” and that repeats itself so many times that I typed it out too much for the computer to even start handling it. Then I think to myself that my sentences are genius. But are they? Or is this truly crazy? As in c-r-a-z-y? Who was it that said that I was c-r-a-z-y? I did?
Oh shit. I’m crazy.
“I got too high” I texted Catherine. “I think this is a bad trip maybe? I can’t decide”.
“How do you feel now?” she said.
Atheist, lesbian, feminist, what am I forgetting? Oh yeah, Black Lives Matter!
Why am I explaining everything to you all?
What is my wife going to think of this thing when she reads it? Will she think I’m legit crazy? Like the publisher said I was?
Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! Spiraling! I typed it out so many times because … is my spacing correct throughout? Would I allow a publisher to attempt to correct that? Yes, I probably would. I am hoping this changes my life.
100,000/1417 words = 70.57 words per session. 4 sessions a week. 282.28 what? Words per week. 100,000/282.28 = 354.25 What the fuck am I doing? I’m obsessing over numbers that made sense towards the beginning but slowly and slowly started to fall apart as to what I was trying to figure out? I’m not even saying things right anymore. Would my Apple Jack even last long enough for me to write this thing? Because I’ve never felt this type of exhilaration and cerebral firing of synapses on any other strain. So, if I run out of this strain, would I be able to finish this book. Fuck. Could this lead to addiction? Having a really fucking good high? I’ve never felt this way in my life. Big exhale.
She’s going to think I’m crazy and leave me. Fuck.
Rosario Dawson should play my character. For the movie that will be adapted from this book. She’s an excellent actress. Searches for Rosario Dawson on Google. Results, unbelievable. Beauty? I can’t take how beautiful she is. Maybe too beautiful to play me, because, who the fuck am I?
That wasn’t nice to oneself. Time for another Topo.
I’m high as balls. I am eating so many crackers. Would I remember where to start off once I returned to write in this book again? Would I remember my very last thought? Would it matter? My wife thinks I’m crazy now. Well, she’s not my wife yet, though she was. Does that make sense? Is this the pot speaking or my mental illness speaking? I don’t want people to know. I didn’t want people to know about that.
Atheist, Lesbian, Feminist, Black Lives Matter, but no, not mentally ill.
Did Apple Jack make me lose my mind? Yes, I’m shifting the blame. Yes, I want someone to blame. No, I don’t want to blame my parents because I am ashamed that my parents caused my dissociative identity disorder. I’m ashamed that the people who were supposed to love me the most in the world didn’t. I’m ashamed that my father sexually abused me. I’m ashamed that my mother neglected me. I’m ashamed that I went hungry for so many days under their care. I’m ashamed that I eat so much now that I’m older because food is so much more abundant than it was when I was a kid and I want to appreciate that.
No, I’m not a vampire. Keep the Topo away from the computer. Eat a cracker. Yes, I’m crazy.
Okay, not a book, but an article.