I'm reading Slaughterhouse-Five and in my head, it's narrated by David Carradine. Is that normal?
I'm in a weird place, right now. Mentally. Psychologically. I'm sure you all get sick of hearing me refer to my mental state as a "place", but it is, as far as I'm concerned. I'm trying to decide what's true, and what isn't, what matters, and what doesn't, what's real, and what's fantasy, and which of those is better, really.
I'm trying to decide, ladies, because only you gals read this, who I am and who I should be.
(Now my thoughts are being narrated by David Carradine, is that a problem?)
I don't know who matters, I don't know what's true.