Our Bodies, Ourselves.
Dear Sparkle Mag —
I think that I have become Special Agent Dale Cooper — you know the FBI operative staking out Twin Peaks in the hunt for BOB and Laura Palmer’s killer. I have three reasons to believe this metamorphosis is true:
1. I have a high nasally voice and many people think I’m from Nebraska
2. I am always video blogging, in my head
3. I always drink coffee and want to debrief someone in a sheriff’s office
There are other reasons, but I won’t clutter space here with them.
The point is, though, is that Dale Cooper is a blogger that I identify with. He was always speaking to a woman on the other end of a microcassette named Diane.
“Diane, it’s September 13th, and I am waking up in the Great Northern Hotel. Sheets: they are Egyptian linen, high thread count. Audrey is missing and Leland has become a superior dancer.”
Sometimes I communicate with a woman in my navel named Deborah. She’s my cousin and sometimes she appears in my refrigerator at night.
I’ll keep you updated on this.
Signed,
Coop
