K. Uminoko

I started writing this memoir in 2008 to try to make sense of the strange slide from innocent crush on a cute surfer to obsessive insanity in the space of a few months. But as I started to transcribe my journals, the critical months from summer 2002 could not be found. I hunted everywhere for the notebook; it made no sense, but I couldn't help believing in the satanic, supernatural influence of Danny, teleporting into my shack at the height of the madness to steal or erase my diaries--which felt like a relapse. Better not to think about it anymore and abandon the project.

A decade went by. One day as I was sorting through my journals, the missing material reappeared--through mislabeled dates, or a notebook that continued in a strange place; I don't even remember exactly except that it was absolutely haunting. I knew this meant I had to pick up the project again, especially as we had just decided to retire early and spend a couple of years on the road. Writing the memoir carried me through six months in Montreal, eight months in Oaxaca, two years of pandemic, and three more years of procrastination and despair until I was utterly sick with the time I had spent narrating what one friend called the most cringe-worthy moments of my life. The year 2024 feels like a turning point, and thus a good moment to release this experience at last.