Had started collecting my thoughts and supporting links for a post on the fall of this minor celebrity from the misbegotten 90’s (which turns out wasn’t too far) and maybe those like her, but keeping it as a draft all this time seemed only to discourage me from writing entirely. Not that imagining the circumstances capable of bringing about change of such extraordinary magnitude, perceived or otherwise, was in any way affecting my own disposition, but rather I find myself just not giving a fuck. Like I’ve become indifferent to differences that would’ve once had me curious how they could come about and might even affect me, my relationships, society at large, or at the very least give us something to talk about on our interminably long phone calls back then.
[I’m reserving this space in the hopes of segueing to a more interesting dream, because I’ve been sleeping an awful lot lately.]
Well, it wasn’t Tralfamadore with Jenna Coleman, but I dreamed I preposterously claimed to be the actor “behind” Will Arnett, I’m not sure why, but it was a small enough lie not to be disputed by my listeners. There must’ve been some credulity threshold that wasn’t exceeded by the benefit from maintaining the pretense.
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