So, after years of hearing people tell me I should write a memoir about my life’s experience and realizing that my particular story could act as a vehicle to break down those nasty, outdated stereotypes about folks with mental illness and the intended treatment of such. And, yesterday, I officially decided to map out a game plan and spend the next few months of unemployment writing this great memoir of mine that discusses my bouts with the disease, the causes, the effects, the trips to the hospital, the results of healthy therapy, etc. I was psyched and ready to go and went out and made a proclamation, asking friends and relatives to help me fund this venture (http://www.indiegogo.com/IAmNotUnique) as I plan to spend a lot of time on the road doing interviews and researching to my heart’s content. Feedback came gushing in from my friends was overwhelming, with people cheering me on and saying they believed in me and all that junk that friends are supposed to say.

And then, today, I woke up with the greatest fear I’ve ever known. Even greater than the fear of dying, to be honest.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WRITE A FRIGGIN’ BOOK! Where do I start? How do I make it poignant and effective without sounding melodramatic? How do I make it honest without stepping on people’s toes? How do I put words together so they don’t sound like me rambling about something most people don’t care to understand in the first place (i.e. this blog.) What do I exclude that’s totally cliched and overwrought? What do I include that’s scary and may hurt people’s feelings? How do I make it heavy enough to drive a point home but light enough that people will recommend it to their friends and maybe laugh a little? How do I pick out a title? WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?

I want to set the storyline up to illustrate a painfully-typical middle-class, white girl who was raised in the suburbs within a nuclear family and never wanted for anything (hi. That’s me.) but somehow found herself battling complete and utter insanity within her psyche that nearly ripped her in half a couple times and sent her to a few mental hospitals. I want to tell my story in a way that has minimal shock value, but drives home the point that this is the stuff that happens to millions of people exactly like me, but because of social stigmas or psychiatric overmedication, the issue isn’t dealt with in a solvable, maintainable way. THAT’S the bottom line of what I want to convey… and I have no fucking clue how I’m supposed to word an entire novel about myself into that.

So, cut to me on this second day, curled up in the fetal position and saying, out loud, “There’s no way I’m going to be able to write this shit. I can write blog entries and essays that get published but a book? A FUCKING BOOK?! That’s re-goddamned-diculous.” while my beloved spouse kept the house in running order and soothed my flailing self-doubt.

This is Fear. And I was not expecting it so freaking soon.

One of Those


I don’t even know anymore.*





*Not that I really did, although I was convinced that I did up until about six or seven years ago. But now I’m certain that I don’t. And I don’t know where to start or if it’s even worth starting and it’s not bad and it’s not good and what it all boils down to is that I’m a giant wuss and no amount of begging the Universe for a pair of white-gold-dipped balls is actually changing that at the moment and that’s frustrating on top of everything else slowly stacking itself on each other. So, even though there’s a lot going on, there’s really nothing happening.
Because of me.
Being chickenshit.
And then hating it.
And then hating myself for hating it.

… And I’m tired. I think tired is coming in at a close second. Like, really long-term, weary, worn-out tired. It’s like I’ve spent since I was 13 overanalyzing and oversentimentalizing everything and then I ramped that up in the last few years with the mental workout of recovery and now something in my brain just finally powered down and now I don’t want to do any of it which doesn’t really help me because I’m pretty lazy when it comes right down to it but I kinda felt productive in my inactivity before now because at least I was dissecting and understanding everything but now that I’m not even doing that I’m really just not doing anything at all.

I really miss being able to blame my ineptitude on being completely out of my mind.

The Rundown

Because I have so much to cover in a very very short amount of time (We still don’t have the Internet at our place so, again, I’m doing all this from the Lee County Public Library where they limit my compy usage to 1.5 hours daily. That’s just inhumane…) I’m going to give you a bulleted list of topics and you can scroll down to the one that interests you the most. See? I keep my readers in mind. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.

Also, I’ve been having blog-and-Internet withdrawal so please excuse me if this is rather rambly and self-indulgent. 

1) The Move
a) Elated
b) Nervous
c) Confused
d) Kinda Wistful
2) Meeting People
3) The New Projects

1) The Move
Oh man, it’s like I’ve said before: I’m positive there has never been a single human being more excited about moving to a small town in North Carolina than I have in the last couple weeks. I’m sure the novelty of it all will wear off but, Holy Crap, I feel like I’ve wandered into Pleasantville. I ventured out last Saturday, got myself a little cup of coffee, and checked out the local farmers’ market which was really more of a Stuff Old People Grow in Their Backyards Market, which is actually even better in my book. Anyway, while I was wandering around downtown buying a local paper and taking pics of the town for this here blog, I was delighted to find that every single person who passed me bothered to engage in mini conversations. Not just “Hi, how ya doin’?” but “Good morning! What on earth are you taking pictures of?” type conversations. I’m one of those people who thrives on getting to know local, grassroots culture so this was particularly exciting to me.

Sanford is a pretty cool little town, to be honest. It’s not one of those places that dried up once a Wal-Mart came to town and has one of those downtowns where people actually patronize and enjoy. There are tons of cool old houses where people throw block parties for anyone who wants to swing by. There are two local theatres, including one that I’m auditioning for in the next week but I’ll get to that later. Plus, the whole city is only 45 minutes from the Research Triangle area (Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham) and the Triad (Greensboro, Winston-Salem, High Point) so we’re close enough to the awesome forward-motion of city life without having to deal with the traffic and higher rate of crime, etc. (I was jazzed when I realized that we get the free weekly Independent Arts newspaper all the way down here! Culture! Life! Things happening! Whee!)

Also, in talking with some of the local people, this is one of those rare towns where kids are still kids. In Myrtle Beach it wasn’t uncommon for 11 year olds to be talking about giving blow jobs and where to get drugs, but here the kids still believe in Santa Claus until they’re 10 and don’t have cellphones until they start driving. Obviously, they grow more aware of the world as they get older (there’s drugs and sex everywhere) but it’s at a more traditional pace, which I’m a big fan of.

Again, I’m sure the novelty of small town life will wear off eventually but at the moment I’m loving the relief of not having to deal with godawful tourist traffic, not having to look at rundown outlet malls and shady strip clubs everywhere I go, not having to be blinded by neon signs and hideous billboards en route to EVERYWHERE. Getting to be around people who take pride in where they live and strive for better educations than a GED. It feels like I’m back where I started from originally and strangely, that’s exactly what I want right now.

So we’re in the process of unpacking everything in this cute little 2-story, 3 bedroom house in a quiet little neighborhood and are feeling unbelievably optimistic about the whole thing. I like it.

2) Meeting People
It occurred to me that, while living with a small child who isn’t in school, I have the potential to spend the next year in almost complete seclusion. Knowing my history with depression, this sounded like a good way to sink into a state of lonely hopelessness, which is something I prefer to avoid at all costs.

SO! I’ve taken it upon myself to push aside all my weird social anxieties, actually reach out, and meet some people. First, I emailed a local blogger who writes a lot about living a green lifestyle while being a mom. I just wanted to pick her brain about what Sanford life is like, if there were any places she could recommend in the way of preschools, family physicians, etc. Knowing that it’s totally weird to send a probing email to a stranger, i wasn’t really expecting much in the way of a thorough response. However, a few days later I received a 4 page email detailing everything from her preferred childcare centers to where not to get my hair done (apparently they employ drunk stylists). I was doubly impressed that she withheld any discussion of religion or spirituality because she didn’t like to push that sort of thing on people but if I wanted to know more about her church or what sort of spiritual gatherings are in the area, I was more than welcome to ask her about it. Even more impressive was the fact that she picked up on my mention that I wrote in my blog about depression and alcoholism and she casually recommended a psychiatric facility that members of her family had found success with. I was touched and refreshed with the knowledge that there are people here who don’t mind going out of their way to help complete strangers.

Additionally, one of my good friends takes an acting class once a week in Charlotte with a gal from Sanford and sent me her number. Once again, I pushed all my weird insecurities out of the way (By the way, it’s come to my attention just how unbelievably awkward I am, but I’m planning that as a post later on.) and just called her. She and her husband had me and mine over for cards and drinks last night and I was really relieved at how good of a time I had. We all seemed to get along, seemed to be like-minded, seemed to have a lot in common (although her kids are significantly older than mine) and, even though I don’t think we’ll be connected at the hip or anything, it’s so so nice to know someone else in town.

Although this merges into my next bulleted segment, I’ve also made it a point to join a couple Meetup groups and will be attending a tribal bellydance party in a couple weeks. I haven’t been part of a bellydance community in about 2 years but I miss it a lot and would love to meet other people who are into it and may be interested in traveling to events, etc. I’m thinking once I get settled I may attempt a book club in the area but that’s a few months off. Anyway, the point is that I’m trying, dammit.

3)The New Projects
At the moment, I’m having so much momentum from the move and the possibilities of new opportunity that I’m not sure where to put my immediate interest. The thing is, I’ve been wanting to get my writing career back on track and pay attention to working on a byline and getting a portfolio under my belt. (I just picked up an old Playboy from my collection a few days ago and realized that Sloane Crosley has been getting published WAY longer than I’d originally thought. Since she’s around my age, I kind of strangely consider her a peer and a bit of a pace-setter, although this usually leads to unnecessary comparisons between her career and mine and then the ensuing frustration that I’m not anywhere close to where I’d like to be.)

And then I just decided to do my first theatre audition in like, 3 years, so I’m preparing a monologue and short song for that. I’ve really wanted to get back into theatre but was really hesitant with the knowledge that it will eat a LOT of time and evenings with Greg. After talking about it and getting his encouragement and blessing, I’m going ahead with it and I guess we’ll navigate through our schedules if I’m actually presented with an opportunity for a role.

After taking the GRE, I’ve been looking at psychology degree programs and/or counseling certification programs. I’m ELATED to be in North Carolina as the university educations accessible from my location are incredible and seem ideal for what I want to do. This is something I probably won’t have the freedom or funding to get into for another year or so but I know I need to start working on applications and financial aid sooner than later so I’m not crunched for time.

And then there are countless extraneous things I’ve just been putting off for various reasons like working on scrapbooking these hundreds of photos from the last year and getting this website up and running and following up on my applications for grants for this book I’m writing. I don’t know how I plan to actually do all of this but I know I want them all to fit into my 5 Year Plan (such a ridiculous stereotypical idea…) and I know that means I actually need to do them. It just feels like everything’s been on hold since we’ve been waiting around to see if we’d be moving, so I hope that I can actually get back to living once we get settled in.

And THEN I noticed that there’s this old movie theatre for sale in downtown Sanford that flickered back to life that crazy dream I have of opening a mini multiplex that would consistently feature 1 indie/foreign flick, 1 children’s flick, 1 old film and 1 recent film and lend itself to a plethora of audiences. (I’ve written about it before but can’t seem to find the entry about it at the moment.) I’d love to do stuff like have a “Wizard of Oz” week where we play the movie all week and then have a big “Wizard of Oz” party on the last night. Same with “Rocky Horror” or “Tommy” or “Grease” or “Sound of Music” or any array of cool cult-y classics. Anyway, I’m going to call the realtor in charge to ask what the going price is…
… A girl can dream, right?

So that’s life in brief. Again, I’m using a compy that’s not my own so I don’t feel right posting pics at the moment. It’ll happen soon but I’m sure isn’t pertinent or urgent to anyone’s well-being so I’m not terribly worried about it at the moment.

In brief though: We’re happy. We’re optimistic. We’re relieved. We’re grateful.

These are all incredibly refreshing feelings.

Fool Prevention

There are two main things that people believe they are so far better at than they actually are: singing and being funny. However, if there is anything more painful and awful to watch than someone who mistakenly believes they can sing, it is someone who truly believes they are funny and desperately are not.

This is why I’m terrified to chase my real, secret dream of becoming a comedy writer… but I’ll get to that in a minute.

I say that these are the “two main things” (aside from, say, being well-read or knowing how to act or something else that is completely subjectively judged) because these are the two things that everyone has access to attempting every day of their lives and that throngs and throngs of misguided people flock to various auditions for in hopes to find success in these coveted crafts. It’s far harder to be convinced that you’re a brilliant doctor if you’re killing people left and right or that you’re a fantastic pilot if you can’t even turn a plane on, right? Those are things that require actual evidence of talent and capability in order to acheive success at. But people who mistakenly believe that they are great singers or groundbreaking comedians aren’t required to have any sort of tangible evidence that they have any competence or training in their field so they’re more likely to hurl themselves toward it in complete delusion. Maybe it’s because those who can entertain are considered heroes in our culture, maybe it’s because those people who are mistaken about their talents think that fame and recognition for these likable talents will make them feel loved, but whatever the case, these are the two things that people in any social class or setting attempt to demonstrate constantly, whether to small audiences or on a nationally-syndicated television show. And they come in droves as those most willing to make colossal asses of themselves.

This starts on a basic level, which we’ll call Level 1’s (The Socially Unfunny.) Usually there is one person around who loves to think of him/herself as being “witty” and “sarcastic” and will also brag to new friends that these are among their best qualities. And, while they may actually have learned the definition of “sarcasm,” their development of the implementation of the technique apparently stalled immediately afterward. (Typically around the early 90’s.) Level 1’s are incessantly interjecting commentary that is not only insipid and predictable but is almost nauseatingly unfunny. True, the comments they make are technically “sarcastic,” but they are in the very most primitive form, indicative of the exhausting Chandler character on ‘Friends.’  Usually, this behavior is found in children ages 10-17 who have just learned about the idea of sarcasm but still have no grasp in irony. (And, for the record, this was definitely me for the majority of my adolesence. Another problem cured through sobriety!) However, when this person is any older than 18, it just becomes obnoxious.  

For example, if a friend of one of these Level 1’s (L1) was to trip and fall in front of the L1, the L1 would automatically be inspired to say something like, “Hey, next time why don’t you try walking?” or “Walk much?” Sometimes the L1 will take it to an L1.5 response and hint at irony, like “Look out for that sidewalk; it likes to shift.” Another example of an L1.5 response would be if, say, a frequently-unkempt person had decided to skip a bath for a day and told their L1.5 acquaintence, only to be told, “And that’s neeeeeever something you’d do. Because you’resoooohygenic. ” [Insert I’m-totally-kidding-wink here.] Any of these variations are categorically Level 1, though, because they are agonizingly dull, uninspired, obvious and outdated. (Because I was a candidate of L1 status as a drunk, it serves as yet another strong reason as to why I should avoid the booze.)

The Level 2 gang is only slightly advanced in that they understand the basics of generalized wit, sarcasm, and perhaps even humor-inducing elements/formulas but their voices and attempts are based on the trends of popular contemporary comedy styles. These people are funny enough to stand out in small groups of people and L2.5’s may even attempt a career but ultimately won’t be able to make any name for themselves or find any real success because they are simply carbon copies of real talent. An L2 probably adorescomedy and is capable of reproducing various styles of humor that are all relevant to current pop culture. For example, an L2 can mimic the Random-Humor style of “Monty Python” just as well as he can cite obscure references like “Family Guy” has earned vast recognition for [beating to death.] Although it’s an easier format, many L2’s are popular for their ability to channel the revolutionary (at the time) Awkward-and-Silly humor that Adam Sandler introduced and Andy Samberg continues today. And, a very advanced L2.5 may even be able to grasp the absurdist satire styles that create such shows as “South Park.” All are popular subgenres of comedy for a reason and, recognizing this, an L2 is happy to jump on board.

And the very worst of these egomaniacal Unfunnies are the Level 3’s. L3’s are so convinced that they are humorous that they have committed their lives to treating the world to their humor. These are the types who are capable of thinking outside of the box but their attempts at humor fall into the unsuccessful subcategories of comedy like Pretentious Humor, So-Abstract-Nobody-Gets-It Humor, So-Twisted-And-Disgusting-That-You’d-Have-To-Be-Soulless-To-Laugh Humor, or So-Overwrought-With-Intention-That-Nobody-Gives-A-Shit Humor. Similar to the Level 2.5’s, the L3 often copies popular styles of humor although on a more elitist level. An L3 is more likely to mimic the Uncomfortable-And-Awkward-Situation Humor as popularized by shows like “The Office” and “Kath and Kim” (The UK and AUS originals, of course. This type of humor requires subtlety in order to really be effective and if there’s anything Americans cannot seem to grasp it’s exactly that. Oh, and the idea that we’re not a theocracy… but that’s another conversation.) and even in the groundbreaking “Napoleon Dynamite” (most recognizable by it’s overquotation from L2’s.) These people believe they are the next Andy Kaufman, that they are going to shake up the way we all accept humor, that they are going to redefine the comedy world, and the only reason that they haven’t been able to touch the masses is because they’re ahead of their time and nobody recognizes their greatness yet. But L3’s are not destined to become actual comedians because they are chronic Unfunnies and the only genuine humor they display is the sad fact that they cannot see how terrible they are and the complete irony that their life often matches the exact crappy comedy they’re writing/performing.

I am petrified that I’m destined to become a Level 3.

I’ve always secretly dreamed of being a writer for SNLor some comedy-based performance company in general. Then when Tina Fey started stepping out I became even more excited with the realization that women are finally starting to get taken seriously as brilliant comedians capable of entertaining masses on an intelligent level. Although I’ve been performing on stage since I was 6-ish, I’ve come to the realization that I’m just not that funny to watch, really. And when I’m watching recordings of my performances I am literally sickened by all my terrible artistic choices and the opportunities I missed and my general cluelessness when it comes to creating a presence. With that in mind, I was fortunate enough to write and perform with a quite successful comedy troupe in Melbourne, Australia a few years ago and just adored it. I enjoyed collaborating on ideas with others, I loved feeling like my work was something people really enjoyed and I became intoxicated with pride and glee when a line or sketch I’d written garnered laughs and applause. Again, when I watch my performances from those shows now I blatantly cringe at my awkward stage persona (and the sad realization that I don’t even have the brilliance to make that work for me, like the dozens of awkward comedians we love because of their weirdness) but I really started getting excited at the idea that maybe some of my thoughts were original and maybe I wasn’t completely idiotic to the comedic cues of social consciousness.

The problem is, I’m 99.9% positive I’m not a funny person. I mean, I can feed right in to obvious jokes and can even adjust these responses to match the demographic preferences of my immediate company (so, I’m pretty L2, even though I’m not as blindly confident as the aforementioned L2’s in the descriptions) and there are times when I’m genuinely on a roll about something and have people chuckling more than usual, but when it comes to real, uniquely stylized humor, I’m completely inept. No unique voice, no original thoughts or concepts, nothing that doesn’t fit some preconceived, overused everyday format.

And this gets even more frustrating in my daily life as I’m a bit addicted to really bright, insightful and/or progressive comedy in almost any form. While I love to read popular humor writers like The Sedaris, The Eggers, Sloane Crosley, Jenn Lancaster, Erma Bombeck, Everyone at The Onion, etc. and I looooooovewatching/following stand-up comedy like I’m a paid reviewer (Patton Oswalt still being my favorite; I’m almost to groupie status with my collection of essays and speeches and bootlegs… I like that he’s intelligent and well-read and expects his audience to be so as well instead of catering to the lowest common denom crew. It’s admirable.), I’m constantly becoming discouraged with the realization that I am not as brilliant as these people I’m so in awe of. Sure, half the sketches on SNLthese days are so terrible a 3rd grader on heroin could’ve written them, but for the most part, comedy has made a massive comeback since the Great Comedy Massacre of the late-80’s-early-90’s. And I feel like a prepubescent white kid trying out for the NBA for even daring to think that I could work in this industry.

Thank God I’m not clueless as to my inabilities because I would HATE to be one of the previously discussed idiots blindly plunging forward in a ridiculous confidence. But on the other side of the coin, I’m wondering how much of that is realistic and if, by some wild chance, my fear is actually holding me back from even so much as attempting to contemplate researching the ability to begin this dream. (No, seriously. I’m that hesitant.)

So today I’m at a party in the Chicago area and happened to fall into a conversation with a woman who was very good friends with a woman who started as a performer at Second City, where she met The Fey (cut to me having a Gat-damned heartattack) and from which she transferred to SNL. When H.R.H. Fey decided to begin her own empire of genius, this woman (we’ll call her K.) was invited to come with and is now a writer for ’30 Rock.’ (This was the part where I lost my bowels.) Trying not to gush (I mean, this was a person who knew a person who knew Mrs. Fey. It’s not like I was touching Her garments or using my hair to wash her feet.) I mentioned how much I loved the show, admired The Fey’s work and influence on the industry and had always really wanted to get into that sort of thing but was limited with my lifestyle and location for the time being. After I told her I’d had a little experience working and writing with a real, legit troupe she casually mentioned that she’d be happy to send a message to K and ask for any insight into getting into the industry, if she’d be willing to take a look at some writing samples and offer criticisms, etc. I was mortified at how childishly excited I became at a mention of a chance this woman might mention me to someone who knows someone who knows someone that will more than likely turn into absolutely nothing at all. This woman had never met me, will probably never see me again, has never read any of my work, and honestly was probably doing the typical just-being-nice-because-I-mentioned-a-connection thing. Still, I turned into a moron but was able to create an adult persona until I was able to attack Greg with the embarrassingly non-existant “news.”

And then I started thinking, What if, by some wild freak chance, this woman I met today was serious and wrote to K and I somehow got in contact with her and was asked to send some writing samples or something equally improbable… What then?

What I mean specifically is “What the fuck are you going to give them? What do you have to offer at all?” Greg and I have agreed that we’ll up and move anywhere it takes for the other to realize their dream no matter how ridiculous. So relocating or taking a dream job or any of that isn’t my question in this case, mostly because I literally never think it will ever be a reality.

So it all comes back to me not ever wanting to be a clueless, arrogant L3. Sometimes I so wish I had that idiotically blind superego that so many untalented artists have, like Adam Levine who literally believes that Maroon 5 is the greatest band on the planet. (He said this with no irony intended. At. All.) Because even though those guys look like giant arrogant idiotic douchebags, their crazy confidence has made them successful and able to express their art and bring it to the masses… which is exactly the objective. (Although when Tenacious D parodies these guys’ attitudes, it’s just amazing.) But I can’t do that. I can’t go out there and proclaim to be the next Bill Hicks and tell show producers that I’m going to pwn the industry and be the greatest writer they’ve ever worked with. Hell, I can’t even confidently convince someone that my best essay will make them crack a smile. So charging headfirst completely assured that I have any talent at all is a LIE.

My husband and I have always made the promise to each other that if there’s something we’re aspiring to do or be that we are blatantly incapable of, we would be honest and tell the other so as not to cause the other person years of rejection and heartbreak. This, of course, was decided while watching one of those American Idol season premiers where they show the god-awful singers who were never told the truth and are just making themselves look ridiculous on national television. And yes, I love my husband enough to save him from public shame and humiliation.

So anyway, this evening I sat down and told him to be honest about whether or not he thought this was a valid, obtainable dream to even attempt going after. Not that I don’t want to be a columnist or pen a memoir or get my counseling degree, but if the opportunity arises for me to reasonably chase my wild dream I’d prefer to go after it above anything else. And he said I was hilarious. And then I asked him if I was creatively hilarious or just run-of-the-mill hilarious. And he said I was creative and I catch him off guard with quips all the time. And then I asked him if I was innovative and capable of creating new, unique premises and executions of comedy and he said, “Um, sure.” so I asked him to give me an example of a time that I’d had a unique, original thought that wasn’t just a riff or takeoff on someone else’s… And then he started rubbing his temples and chuckling and asking God why he couldn’t just have a wife that nagged him about normal things.

So that’s why I’m awake until 3 a.m. wondering if my fears are valid and if they’re even going to matter in the long run. (Either way, worry isn’t doing me any good. I know this.) And then I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to get a really incredible opportunity without feeling completely undeserving of it.

A Series of Subconscious Affairs

For about the last six months, my dreams have conducted three separate affairs with three separate men in a series of rather steamy encounters. This is humorous to me, not because I find humor in extramarital affairs (quite the opposite, actually), but because my mind actually supposes that I could possibly conjure enough discipline to have even one discreet long-term operation. And so the idea of possibly having the discipline for three is absolutely hysterical.

I don’t really care what the subconscious implications of such a strange mental phenomenon are, to be honest. I just think it’s interesting because my mind is able to keep track of each affair from dream to dream, remembering instances and quotes from each dream and transferring this knowledge to the others. The gentlemen my subconscious has chosen are equally as bizarre as none are particularly important male figures in my life. In fact, all of them are brief character blips in the overall synopsis of my life, but my mind has, in the course of the last half-year, created entire relationships between myself and these men who are only nonfiction in name and appearance. What I mean is that in addition to creating completely fictitious relationships, my mind has delicately crafted these men into complex characters (maybe caricatures, actually) that I am apparently unable to resist. Again, the men involved are people I really don’t know, but I [creepily, freakishly] have developed these entire personas subconsciously that inevitably have nothing to do with the people they actually are today.

Anyway, just about the time I forget about the terribly erotic affairs I conduct while asleep, another will crop up and run its course for about a week and I wake up feeling strangely rejuvenated, but also incredibly guilty, as if I’ve actually been unfaithful to my husband.