I just realized that I have at least two friends who don’t understand fiction. This is a strange thing. The one that made me realize this lamented my ability to meet new people is much better than hers. I found this strange since I rarely meet new people and have very few in my orbit. I over looked the strangeness of the statement at the time, realizing later that she was mistaking the short fiction I sent her for reality. I had sent a small story to her in hopes of some useful criticism. It was about two people who meet, exist together, then part ways(I know, big departure from my normal subject matter). I think she doesn’t understand that it is fiction. All those poems and stories I’ve sent, somehow got confused for autobiography. This behavior, I’ve come to realize, has happened around me before. A friend from a long time ago would also make cryptic statements about the girls I hang out with… I always assumed he meant our shared friends, but upon reflection I think he was talking about the various people I invented to write about. I wonder if they know there was no middle earth and Pennywise was not a clown? Or is it just the easily confused smaller stories? Sal and Dean exist as they are portrayed, Hank Chinowski was as desperate and romantic as written, and Chuck Palahniuk has a very good left hook.

Oh, and I cut my hair for the first time in a few years. It’s less hot now.