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Audiobook
First published June 14, 2022
I was functionally human. Why, then, had that life always felt like a pastime, just something I was doing while waiting for my other self, the actualized, better version of myself, to come along and make it real?
Inside every person's head is a set of films, each a spool of memories, and one of these reels features the most trivial things a person does over the course of a lifetime, including ordering a ham sandwich from the local market's deli counter years ago and the girl who handed it to you, and I hated that the films in these other people's brains were still running, and that I was in them. The humiliation of being alive, and being seen!
A subterranean longing would pass through me at those moments, a sharp, wrenching desire for wholeness, for the correct way of living. When I saw it up close it didn't seem funny, or lame, or maudlin. It wasn't anything but beautiful. Whenever I witnessed these moments of domestic perfection, the thing that good people were born into, I had an odd feeling that I was floating somewhere beyond myself, in a far corner, watching my heart grasp at the scene like a drowning person inches away from a life jacket, clutching at the water of love, ecstatic and terrified.

People who research anything, who deep-dive anything, understand that solitude is never loneliness when you have your subject. The subject looms before you like a bright city on the horizon, beckoning you forward. And you’re forever living in it, or going toward it.
All in all I wanted to touch the fabrics, to eat the ice cream, to feel the same afternoon sunlight a model kicking up her heels in a seventies-era Sears autumn catalog was selling. The humming safety of a packaged life. I wanted to experience a whole other timeline. Through Three’s Company I would transcend the existence of Bonnie Lincoln. Time itself would no longer be an enemy. The filth of my own life would cease to be a threat.
• After I won the lottery, a lot of strangers showed up to tell me what a piece of trash I was. Then they would ask me for money.
• Love was a sickness. It had poisoned me. People lie when they say misery or loneliness kills; it’s love. Love is the lethal agent. The more you have to live for, the more can be taken away.
• Other people can ruin a dream just by knowing it.
• Three’s Company was a farce, after all. Farce punishes everyone eventually.
I had possessed all of the things that a traditionally good life were conditional upon. I was functionally human. Why, then, had that life always felt like a pastime, just something I was doing while waiting for my other self, the actualized, better version of myself, to come along and make it real?
My own identity had always seemed suspect to me. Though I believed a shadowy, hidden kernel of personal essence lay within the heart of every individual—a certain absolute truth that determines one’s identity—I had never found mine. I felt I could change in an instant depending on the situation or the people around me. It all seemed so real in the moment, and so completely fake upon reflection.