I have eaten a fettuccine Alfredo with some cold and chewy chicken. What did it taste like? The kind of paste I ate in first grade (pretty delicious).
Can you believe Jerri said I am like Dad? That’s pretty mean. She did apologize a few days later.
Am I like my dad, Aleah? I’m wearing his Stan Smith shoes right now. They fit me perfectly.
Do I sort of want to be like my dad?
I can’t begin to even address that, because saying to me I’m like my dad is like saying twenty-eight thousand things at one time.
I don’t know how much like him I really am (which is a good reason for me to be going to Florida again, I suppose).
Am I just a little bit selfish and deluded (Narcissus), or am I possibly a cheater, a self-hater, a home-wrecker, etc.?
He was a great athlete. I am too.
He was also seriously smart (PhD). I’m not, I don’t think.
I look like him completely.
I act like my dad in how many ways? I don’t know, because he’s dead.
If I won the NCAA Championship in tennis, wouldn’t I smile? Wouldn’t I be happy? There’s this picture of him right after he won his championship where he’s out the on the court with a medal around his neck, and he’s not smiling. He’s sort of staring vacantly into space with this sort of sad look on his face. Maybe I wouldn’t be happy. Maybe I walk around looking sad too.
Because of my hamstring injury, I haven’t really won anything big, yet. We lost the semifinal in football. Hamstring killed the outdoor track season.
Would I be happy if I really won the big one like he did? I don’t know.
You were happy when you got invited to Germany, right?
Are we through? I mean, is our relationship done?
Oh, I’m having a great time writing this!
Screw it. No more writing. I’m going to play Skee-Ball on my phone.
Holy nuts. I’ve written a crapload of pages.