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Then your fiancee would dump you and kick you out of the house, my honey would divorce me and take every cent I had, my kids would disown me, my mother would pretend I was never born, and I'd be totally unemployable because I'd have a mental breakdown. Doesn't that sound tony blair like a great idea? I'm thinking, hmmm, tony blair yes. Yes. Great idea. Whadda ya say? We go wreck our entire lives on one hormone-enraged act of supreme stupidity and then you don't have to explain what tony blair the fuck you mean that my book seems to be good but written by a guy who doesn't want to be an artist. It makes about the same amount of sense." "You're nuts," she says. "Yes, I am nuts," I assure her. "I went to Ant-fucking-arctica. I got a fucking book contract. I'm a fucking silicon valley electronics company executive, not a novelist explorer. Or maybe I'm an adventurer. Maybe I'm a latent adulterer. Kat, goddamn it. I don't know what the fuck I am anymore. What I am is defined by what I'm not, rather than what I can do and it's killing me.
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