I stand by my theory:
Sam Ford is the author of my life. And maybe Dave's too.
Some of you know Sam (those that went to Hiram with us) and some of you do not. He was unequivocably the best friend I ever did have. Usually, when I was breaking down crying, he was there to walk around with me at 4AM. Sam was an insomniac--he was always available at those weird hours when nobody should be awake. Though occasionally unstable, he was almost always someone I could depend on and confide in. Words like "sport fuck" and "bitchery" were given and taken without flinching.
Unfortunately: I haven't heard from the damn boy in many many months. . . Anyway, in 2002 when Dave and I broke up on V-day and got back together once on April Fools Day, we formed the theory that our friend Sam was likely scripting our lives. Sam is by trade a writer in real life. Most of the time, things are marginally weird on a day-to-day basis. Your basic Random Encounter type things. But every once and awhile, Sam would craft a day that just could not be ignored or forgotten. . he decided to let you have one of those days where you wake up the morning after going wondering if all the things you remember actually did happen, or was it just some feverish dream?
And really, yesterday was one of those intoxicating, crazy days. Like those episodes of Buffy that contribute nothing to plot whatsoever, but you enjoy as they stand all by themselves. A departure from ordinary life. That was yesterday. That was also Sam. And wherever you are, Sexy Phil, feel free to keep em' coming. I still miss you!
<< Home