freelancing coding for designers. I had aspirations before that to do something in artificial intelligence, so I took a ton of Cog Sci classes.
I had a special obsession with human memory, and its weaknesses. Once something was recalled in the mind it was corrupted by the present. Everything in our minds, therefore, was more or less a lie. And there was no way of knowing how much you lied to yourself, how much you created, how much you dismissed, how much you added or subtracted.
I liked to ruminate on this idea, the idea of lying to myself constantly.
I loved to ruminate on this idea, truth be told. Especially if it involved Anna. Something about the pain of Anna's love for me being a lie gave me a nice little punch of pain that I enjoyed.
The only check on your own reality was other people, and how well your memory aligned with the reality of the present: but other people were as unreliable as you.
Maybe John and Anna had fucked right there on a trash can.
Or maybe John and Anna hadn't even seen each other last night at all.
Jesus fucking Christ, Brian.
“You have a deadline,” I told the computer. The coffee had gone cold.
I decided to go to the library.
I left the house clear-minded enough, concentrating on thinking about something besides John and Anna. But my resolve began to degrade, and without even realizing it, I had fallen back into a trance, visualizing the two of them together. The emotions that seized me were so jumbled: I felt the anticipation of Christmas, the longing of early love, the excitement of new lust, the rage of jealousy – all at once.
In this state, I walked too far, and snapped out of my reverie when a streetcar nearly grazed my nose. I looked around. I was blocks away from the library, and I didn't even recognize the neighborhood.
A homeless man chuckled. “Almost gotcha,” he said. And chuckled some more. His dog, as calm as he was, with the same fearful tendencies lurking beneath his exterior, stared at me.
“Thinking about a girl,” the man said to his dog, stroking it from head to the middle of its back.
I felt in my pocket for some change, and came up with a ten-dollar bill. I handed it to him. He nodded his thanks, and then turned distantly back to the street where I had almost died.
The scene was surreal. I blinked as I turned back in the direction I thought I had come from, and began to walk up an enormous hill. By the time I reached the library I was deep in the same thoughts again. My stomach was twisting in knots. John and Anna, John and Anna.
Anna. Her lips full and red.
Anna. Her mouth full of cock.
I wasted the whole day like this, staring at the screen of my computer. I even started Googling John, though why, I could not be sure.
I thought about their exchanged smiles as they left the house.
What was to stop them from meeting for lunch?
Maybe they were even at a hotel right now.
Stop it.
Deadline.
I had entered a few lines of code after an hour, and chances were it was inelegant and barely functioning. I had looked at my phone thirty times, I suppose hoping that Anna would call me, text me, anything – even though she never did that during the day.
I was going crazy.
I spent part of my time thinking about the time before were were married, when Anna liked to play her games. Flirting with other men, and then ditching them before anything went too far. Some of my time remembering the hot feel of her cunt as we both (I hoped) fantasized about her fucking John. Pleasure snaked through me as I savored the thought that maybe she was as serious as I was in her fantasizing.
But most of my time, I dedicated to imagining her with him. Rolling, climbing, stretching into absurd positions, kneeling and opening her mouth. Her skin wet and pale with gallons and gallons of his cum, her eyelashes sticking together, her tongue licking at her lips, John's cock spreading her open.
I tried to rein in my thoughts. I was getting next to no work done. I was spacing out
I had a special obsession with human memory, and its weaknesses. Once something was recalled in the mind it was corrupted by the present. Everything in our minds, therefore, was more or less a lie. And there was no way of knowing how much you lied to yourself, how much you created, how much you dismissed, how much you added or subtracted.
I liked to ruminate on this idea, the idea of lying to myself constantly.
I loved to ruminate on this idea, truth be told. Especially if it involved Anna. Something about the pain of Anna's love for me being a lie gave me a nice little punch of pain that I enjoyed.
The only check on your own reality was other people, and how well your memory aligned with the reality of the present: but other people were as unreliable as you.
Maybe John and Anna had fucked right there on a trash can.
Or maybe John and Anna hadn't even seen each other last night at all.
Jesus fucking Christ, Brian.
“You have a deadline,” I told the computer. The coffee had gone cold.
I decided to go to the library.
I left the house clear-minded enough, concentrating on thinking about something besides John and Anna. But my resolve began to degrade, and without even realizing it, I had fallen back into a trance, visualizing the two of them together. The emotions that seized me were so jumbled: I felt the anticipation of Christmas, the longing of early love, the excitement of new lust, the rage of jealousy – all at once.
In this state, I walked too far, and snapped out of my reverie when a streetcar nearly grazed my nose. I looked around. I was blocks away from the library, and I didn't even recognize the neighborhood.
A homeless man chuckled. “Almost gotcha,” he said. And chuckled some more. His dog, as calm as he was, with the same fearful tendencies lurking beneath his exterior, stared at me.
“Thinking about a girl,” the man said to his dog, stroking it from head to the middle of its back.
I felt in my pocket for some change, and came up with a ten-dollar bill. I handed it to him. He nodded his thanks, and then turned distantly back to the street where I had almost died.
The scene was surreal. I blinked as I turned back in the direction I thought I had come from, and began to walk up an enormous hill. By the time I reached the library I was deep in the same thoughts again. My stomach was twisting in knots. John and Anna, John and Anna.
Anna. Her lips full and red.
Anna. Her mouth full of cock.
I wasted the whole day like this, staring at the screen of my computer. I even started Googling John, though why, I could not be sure.
I thought about their exchanged smiles as they left the house.
What was to stop them from meeting for lunch?
Maybe they were even at a hotel right now.
Stop it.
Deadline.
I had entered a few lines of code after an hour, and chances were it was inelegant and barely functioning. I had looked at my phone thirty times, I suppose hoping that Anna would call me, text me, anything – even though she never did that during the day.
I was going crazy.
I spent part of my time thinking about the time before were were married, when Anna liked to play her games. Flirting with other men, and then ditching them before anything went too far. Some of my time remembering the hot feel of her cunt as we both (I hoped) fantasized about her fucking John. Pleasure snaked through me as I savored the thought that maybe she was as serious as I was in her fantasizing.
But most of my time, I dedicated to imagining her with him. Rolling, climbing, stretching into absurd positions, kneeling and opening her mouth. Her skin wet and pale with gallons and gallons of his cum, her eyelashes sticking together, her tongue licking at her lips, John's cock spreading her open.
I tried to rein in my thoughts. I was getting next to no work done. I was spacing out
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