lately, i have been thinking a lot about swiss cheese. i have been thinking about holes in stories and messages between lines that never get told. i like you, and i enjoy sharing bits of my days, but i don’t tell you everything. you know that, right?
sometimes, i feel guilty, like i owe you the whole story. but i have to remember that stories are just that–they’re stories. they are not promises to document or divulge.
my friends and i play a game. we make movies, video games and memoirs out of our lives. we choose actors who would play us, special powers we’d possess and titles of the stories of our lives. i think about that last one a lot, for obvious reasons.
what would you call the book about your life? what anecdotes would you pick to go in there? which would you keep to yourself because they are too private or precious?
i don’t even know my answers to those questions. i’m still living my story, and i’m making it up as i go along.