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Spoke to Tim. That was --
It wasn't what I was afraid it would be. I think it was better -- and at the same time worse -- than what I was steeling myself for. We're going to be friends. We might be already. I was slipping into the old routine just talking to him, had to remind myself that it wasn't my Tim a few times. But at the same time -- when it's Tim telling you that you've embraced the spandex, you got to believe him. No matter how much you don't want to.
The thing that bugs me most about this though isn't me (shock, horror, I know). It's Dad. I mean ... I'm pretty much all he's got. That's not me being egotistical. That's me knowing. I mean, he's all I got, so I know him pretty well, and other people might not see it, but I know I matter. And if the me in Tim's world is against him ... whose he got?
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I've been kind of preoccupied lately. But I guess that's nothing new. In a place where multiples of the same person exist, alternate worlds are run of the mill, and people from all walks of life show up are forced to share living space, existential crises must be a dime a dozen, right? And yeah, okay, I may be exaggerating there, but 'detailed self-examination' sounds too therapist, and 'moment of realisation' is way too after school special, and seriously, I hated Freaky Friday.
Enough about that, I got some catching up to do. I have a room-mate I've yet to meet -- how about it, dude? You know where I live -- and news to hear. Anyone want to fill me in? I'm not fishing for a distraction -- after all, I'd hate to miss something big.