From the book

Maybe blackouts aren’t a totally bad thing. Could be that your mind knows you don’t want to deal with whatever you’ve done, so it takes out the eraser and does what it needs to do. Still, there are things I’d like to be able to express, words I’m trying to wrap my tongue around. My mouth is the Sahara, my brain a flood. Between the two lies a fucked-up pond that could either be a lake or a mirage.

Matt, I want to say, you’re a metaphor. Too real to be a simile and yet not real enough to be mine. But accident and circumstance keep me silent. That and not knowing how long I’ve been out.

Time. Total mind game. Think about it. How often do we glance at our phones – or for the few of us with watches, our wrists – or up at the clock on the wall, or down at the ground to try to figure out where in the sky the sun is shining and therefore throwing shade?

Damn. I must still be high.