...after struggling every day for the better part of a month just to meet my standing work obligations, including trying to adjudicate a college-wide facult-on-faculty slap down (think West Side Story, but no songs or snapping, and I can't pull of Carmen Miranda), I remember at the last minute I'm to be interviewed today about how narrative forms... I have no idea how narrative forms. I realize that when we get to the part of my life when my friend Danniel and I spend a good portion of every day writing to each other in spiral notebooks that we fill and fill and fill. Why?, asks the interviewer. I don't know. What were you accomplishing by narrating your lives to each other in that way, writing it down? I don't know. Do you have any theories? Nope. Maybe if I can get a minute to think a thought about narrative at the end of life, I'll get a theory that will apply to my own adolescence. Maybe we were dying.