Last night, I dreamed I met one of the girls I liked in third grade at a school reunion. We sat at a table and began to talk. At one point, she said, with almost childish glee,
"I just want to see you act like an idiot."
She then made a remark about my father, whom I'm staying alive for.
Excuse me, but what's this all about? Did I just expose something about girls? I'm doing my best not to lose faith in the people who bring me the most pleasure.
Or maybe it just embodied my deepest fears of women and of life on Earth, a nightmare cleverly disguised as an easygoing dream of fulfillment.
You don't want me to act like an idiot, do you?
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Sixteen
essays so far.
Like a drop of blood in a tank of flesh-eating piranhas, a new idea never fails to arouse the wrath of herd prejudice.