I read out loud to my cat at night before she goes to sleep, her favourite nighttime reading selection is usually either Naked Lunch, The Dharma Bums, or The Tao of Pooh, mostly because of the extra enthusiasm I relinquish when I’m reading either. I’m pretty sure the poor thing has turned into some kind of feline existentialist.

I usually can’t remember something I just said, but I can remember the exact numerical total of lunch…from last Thursday.

I can’t stand people watching me read.

Or write, or paint, or put on my shoes…

I sometimes can’t sleep if the shower isn’t clean, or my books are out of order. I just subconciously know. Even if I don’t particularly care, it still bothers me.

I sometimes will take a walk in the middle of the night for no reason, and I’ll sit on a park bench and just stare in awe at the night sky, looking completely idiotic.

I go to the movies by myself.

...maybe there’s a reason for that.