The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, but I can’t tell which one of us is crazy. I'm not even sure which one of us is dead.
But one of us has to be.
Here we are, walking down the street. Easy breezy early spring day. I’m a little underdressed for the weather, it seems, because I rub my hands up and down my arms and say “brr.” You know, I think it’s you. You’re crazy.… Does that mean I’m dead?
You say: “Would you like my jacket?”
I say: “No, then we'll both get cold.”
BZZZZ. Rewind.
Here we are, walking down the street. Easy breezy early spring day.…
Did we ever even have this conversation? Is it even possible something like this exchange, which says nothing at all, could've bothered you so much? We’ve walked down this street at least forty times. Every time it starts I resolve to break the pattern somehow. Say something new. Unexpected.
(“Brr.”)
But then, why should I be the one to break the pattern? This is your dera…