Adam Gnade

1. Last night I had a dream about the reading Andrew and I did at Oxford last year when my book first came out. Instead of being in St. Edmund’s Hall, which is where it was in real life, it was outside in one of the University’s open spaces, the grass blindingly green, bright emerald-green, the sun baking through my parka. Andrew was going out on tour with Foals after the reading and I was flying home to America. Knowing how much I hate goodbyes, he told me, “It’s alright, we’re still up with horses.” (Decode that one if you will.) At the end of the dream he turned into a tiny dog and ran off through a dog door and then exploded as he raced across the lawn toward the street. I woke up and it was so cold in the bearcave I could see my breath.

2. Jawbreaker.

3. Two nights ago Bart and I were sitting around the table talking about Cormac McCarthy, which is something we do a lot. He’d seen the movie. I hadn’t. There was a Wall Street Journal article with a rare interview and there was a copy of Blood Meridian and some back story talk about its origin in Sam Chamberlain’s memoirs. And I let it slip. Just like that. Something about my driver’s license expiring at midnight. He caught it, and then we were at the bar doing birthday shots. And then we were at the other bar and there was a naked girl on stage with a black-dyed mullet and armpit hair and sleeve tattoos slow-stepping around the pole. At some point I threw myself into the bushes outside.

I woke up on Bart’s couch the next morning in my jeans and cowboy boots. When the hangover came it came like a truck running over my head. But here’s where things got good: I slept it off. Slept right through my hangover. Which is something I’ve never done. This was my body’s birthday gift to me. It was as if my body was saying, “Thanks for all the service. Thanks for being patient while the last couple years ran you through the meatgrinder and smashed all your hope and made you hate all the things you once loved. Here’s your present. It’s small but you’ll appreciate it. Sleep it off. Happy birthday, asshole.”