postcards from topeka

I woke up this morning with the joke I should have fit into last night’s late-night blog about Dr. Inappropriate. (“Less Talkin’, More Doc’in.“)

Meghan has posted parts of our Topeka pre-reading podcast. I’m just going to do myself a favor and not listen. But you can. She had to cut the coffee-fueled dirty parts where I talked about Johnny Depp and fingerpainting, and somehow I think that’s for the best.

Oh, too late. I just listened to part of it because I have to click something called “Pamie Loves Oprah,” and I heard myself laughing. I don’t know if you have this same delusional paranoia, but when I walk past someone, like a stranger, and I hear laughter, I always assume they’re laughing at me. There are many things wrong with this theory, and it’s horribly self-centered to assume everyone I pass notices me at all, but I’m sure it comes from New Kid Anxiety and I’ve tried to be better about it, reminding myself that the world doesn’t really care, and laughter is a good thing and if they don’t call out to me, that I should mind my own business and assume that the only people laughing at me are the ones I provoke.

Until last week when I was laughing with a group of friends and then I heard — IMMEDIATELY — the kid standing behind me with his group of friends mimic my laugh. And then they all laughed.

See, you can convince yourself you’re being paranoid and ridiculous, and then it happens just like you always knew it happened and now I’m back to square one.

Anyway, Topeka.

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