I can look back now over our life and see it in traces of everything. Good and bad. Great and terrible. Bit of a short straw to call it a disorder, I think. It’s a shit hat to make her wear all the time because she’s got the best brain in the world, I love how she looks at everything, how she sees it all—I don’t even mind the part where she just says whatever the fuck floats into her head at any given moment—the only part of it that I struggle with these day—all days, I s’pose—is the future myopia.
