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Honestly, it scares me the way I end up living out the aftermath of decisions I don’t remember making.
The subway stalls out between stations for twenty minutes and everyone loses their minds. Me? I take a few steps back from my eyeballs to sit somewhere deep inside my head. Time has no meaning.
It’s never occurred to me to have an opinion of her music. It’s perfectly inoffensive. Infectious. Breathy. Mostly she sounds as though she’s cooling hot food in her mouth as she sings.
Is this how people become bankrupt? How does this work? How am I being sued? These bastards will spend more money getting it than the amount I owe. I’m like how a penny costs more to produce than it’s worth.
“Tell me anything,”
“No finite moment is responsible for my success. There wasn’t a fork in the road. Some monumental inflection point where my life changed. It was the accumulation of totally normal, regular-ass days where I worked hard, followed my better instincts, and did the right thing. You don’t get to start over every day; you get to keep going.”
“I’ve started a video series,” I tell him tentatively. “It’s about food. . . . It’s stupid. . . .” Dad’s staring straight ahead, and I wonder if he’s heard me. “Nothing that is a manifestation of your creative energies is stupid,” he says. “Doing nothing is the only stupid.”

