Unreliable Narrator

There is a small cafe, located along a dark alleyway, which itself is located off a one-way laneway. The laneway can only be reached by pedestrian access due to an enormous crater - the result of an enormous meteorite - located in the middle of the adjoining main road. Inside the small cafe is a barista of indeterminate species who serves never-ending lattes and plates of cherry coconut slice. Also inside this cafe is a shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet where I keep most of my truths. I rarely visit this cafe, despite my fondness for never-ending lattes and cherry coconut slice. And when I do visit, I tend to sit not entirely in one of the chairs closest to the door. I steer well clear of the shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet and only ever look at it with peripheral vision; I'm not sure how wise it is to get too close to truths kept in shape-shifting cabinets.

It has taken many years for me to mutate into a being with whom I can be comfortable spending time. It's a mostly amicable relationship, and we have a lot in common; we have the same values, we like the same food, we write the same blog, we have the same relatives, we share the same body. But, occasionally, I wouldn't mind some time apart. I don't want to cut ties completely, but a little more space, and maybe a little less intimacy and co-dependency, might be beneficial.

Sometimes I like to believe that I am flawless or that I have superpowers or that I don't exist.

Some years ago, during a break in transmission, I stopped breathing and became a suspended animation. I thought this would kill me but, conversely, it made me more alive. Due to this transition, I am now able to slow time.