When I was eight years old my father took me to a neighborhood carnival. I immediately fixated on one of those huge inflatable structures that are filled with rubber balls and kids bouncing around like they’re walking on the moon. To my amazement, even then, my father reluctantly parted with a hard earned quarter and I was on my way to living a dream. This is my first recollection of REALLY wanting something.
 
Pre-puberty excitement doesn’t get any better than this as I crept on all fours up the inflatable ladder. I fought a strong gust of warm air as I parted the flapping tent-like doors and entered. There were kids everywhere screaming and laughing as they leaped high into the air.
 
I steadied myself and jumped up propelled by the bouncing surface. There was truly a feeling of weightlessness. I came down in slow motion and my knee connected with my chin which caused me to bite through my tongue. The whole room disappeared in a blinding white flash of excruciating pain as I slumped down into a crevice right near the entrance. Through a blurred haze of twisted carnival music I was vaguely aware of happy children stepping over me.
 
There’s no moral here people. All my life I’ve continued to fixate immediately on things that were interesting to me: jazz music, animation, good literature, vaginas etc. I’ve wounded myself many times along the way.
 
I’m writing this because as of last week I bit off what was left of my tongue.  Happy people don’t have time to understand me. What’s up with happy people anyway? I’ll tell you what’s up with happy people: they’re not living their dreams.
 
-Smigly