Friday, September 01, 2006

Jeff Miller: Worst night of my life

Art's right. Can I still call him that? He sure as hell doesn't look like an Arthur anymore, though the strange thing is that it's still clearly him. It's not like I knew the guy that well or anything, but he had this thing for gum. Remember that kid off of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Yeah, not quite that bad but still--the dude was always chewing away on a wad of gum. And now there's this short asian chick telling me to write, that it'll help a bit, and she's chewing, just like Art did.

God, I almost fell off my chair writing that. I'm barely holding on here. My head feels like it wants to burst. Short? I used to be over six feet tall! I was on the football team back at school! And now this new short Art's telling me what to do... and I'm looking up at her. Because here's the real kicker... remember how I was complaining about being younger than everyone here? How they treated me like a kid? Well fuck. Fuck a duck. Fuck if I'm not still the youngest one here. I'm guessing about fourteen. I mean seriously, what's worse? Suddenly being a girl, or being a kid again?

Yeah, being a girl. I'm a chick now. Art's right: writing about it feels like it gives me a bit of control over it. Everything I'm writing--it keeps the brain distracted--keeps me from thinking about what's actually happening, what happened last night, about this cabin full of . . . women now, when just one day ago we'd all been guys.

Actually, this isn't helping at all. I can't write anymore. There's no control and I think I'm going to throw up.

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