I have cared about the Amanda Knox trial for precisely six hours but it is already the most important thing in my life. Obviously I’m joking because that’s a crazy person thing to write.
But since my heart-pounding anxiety has subsided, I’ve begun to reflect on two things:
First, I’m having a hard time distinguishing between Amanda and myself. I keep thinking, I gotta get out of Europe. Get. Me. Out. I’ve been in Ital—Sweden for a year and they’re gonna get me again… etc. I imagine my mother wrapping me in her arms, smelling like Puget Sound and coffee and leading me into a luxury vehicle. I see Amanda’s face and think about how familiar she looks, how her broad, noble face is that of my former coworker’s or a pretty, young, non-cunto version of my ex therapist. I see footage of her friends and family in some old Seattle house and start forgetting it’s not my old friend Grace’s house and I’ve never been there. I feel oddly jealous.
And second, I need to clean my act up FAST. Did you know, that right around the time this whole thing went down I just happened to write a short story about MURDERING someone in ITALY while STUDYING ABROAD? HOW FUCKING GUILTY WOULD I HAVE LOOKED?? This girl mentions limp wrists in a short story and the press is ready to hang her—I meanwhile map out a perfectly executed murder in Italy. Life=ruined. Also, I keep reading how this girl is supposed to be guilty of a sexually-motivated crime because she has The Rabbit? I have The Rabbit. And looking kinda lesbian in high school? I WAS A LESBIAN IN COLLEGE. And she has like one picture where she’s posed a little provocatively?
Well that’s it I’m turning myself in tomorrow for being a big lusty whore masturbator.
All I’m saying is that using someone’s minor expressions of sexuality to impugn their character sucks and in closing, this is all about me.
