My betting app cares about me. I know this because they tell me to be sure to ask for help every time I bet. Do I have a problem? Text: Y-O-U-L-O-S-E-R. If that’s too complicated, call the suicide prevention line. But remember to double down.
Gambling is like being in the Death Zone. You can only stay there for so long, but what a fucking high! I almost nailed it! I only missed one game of my twelve-part parlay. Only one! If I only knew that Farleigh Dickinson was going to upset Purdue. I mean, come on. So crazy. But my betting app always remembers to talk me down with sensible points and a pretty lady to keep me focused. She’s right. They’re right.
I’ve got to stop doing this. I realize now that I’m just ruining my life. I’m not eating properly. I’m not paying my bills. I’ve lost all sense of hygiene. It’s time to stop. But wait! They sent me a notification! A power boost of 50% off my next bet! Okay, just this last one. And that’s it. Well, maybe a quick side bet as insurance. And then I’m done.
The time has almost come to get an agent. The book needs to be pitched…
Crystal and Dee Sinclair started life as a news story.
SACRAMENTO, June16, 1978 Two young girls – one an infant of 14 months – were found alive on Wednesday afternoon, beside their recently deceased mother, Dorothy Keynes, 33. Ms. Keynes was undergoing treatment for depression after the father of the children, Mr. Raymond Sinclair, was killed in alcohol-related single-car traffic accident on Sunday, May 4.
Lillian Murton of Sacramento Social Services made the discovery on a monthly wellness visit. Neighbors along the 7400 block of 21st Avenue expressed outrage that Social Services had not been to the home in the past week.
The elder sibling, 3 years of age, is believed to have fed both herself and her infant sister in the days following their mother’s death. The children are currently being treated for dehydration at U C Davis Children’s Hospital; their names have been withheld. Mrs. James Keynes of Pittsburgh, the mother of the deceased, has filed for adoption of the children.
My Bad Side begins many years on. Crystal, now 27, defiant, knows that her life was borne of tragedy and accepts that with a drink. I’ll tell you what everyone is like. Ever think about torture? Ever think about what that is? People torturing others, I mean, people actually willing to literally torture another person, strap someone down and torture, tear off their fucking fingernails, put wire through their flesh, burn their fucking eyes out, what the fuck else? These people will watch, just watch, another person freak out and scream. And for what? Because they fucking can. Because they can get away with it. That’s who we are. That’s what this is about. We’re fucked. We’re so completely and entirely fucked. (201)
Dee, desired and adored, was too young to remember, and yet the memory persists. She chases after it like a childhood dream, desperate for contact and pushing everyone away. I had a tightness creeping inside. It wasn’t bad. It was more like almost remembering something, not what I had been told; it was more of a biological thing, molecular. It was spinning in my head. Words wouldn’t go together; the sounds were broken apart. I wanted this. I wanted to move into this, whole, that glacial wall of light, the sex, in and out in one pristine act. It was my promise. (157)
The sisters try to understand each other, but they don’t know how to forgive and feast on their addictions instead.