week 2: egg

when I was younger I had a nickname. as a baby I used to clamp down on the spoon when I was being fed, which led to the clever handle: spoonbiter, later shortened to bite or biter.

I don't know what made me think of this, I don't think ive been called that since before my father chose to end his life when I was thirteen or fourteen.

see it was really only him that called me that.

the last time I remember hearing it was at a grocery store, I was reading comics in the magazine aisle and was horrified to hear him shouting "BITE" across the store at the check stand. I remember being so embarrassed, I purposely walked down a few random aisles before finding him at the front, thinking that if I wasn't seen rushing no one would know it was me.

the only other nickname that I had, well.. that I know of was from an ex. she called me Tricky. I didn't mind that one so much.

anyway, thinking of that day, in the store, made me think of a few other memories I have of him, one of those being a story that I was hatched from an egg. that my mother had dropped one when she was putting them away in the refrigerator, it cracked open, and there I was, there were also stories of returning me to the "little boy store" and something about a dead skunk in the road. 

for whatever reason these are the things that have been surfacing lately.

in some ways things were so much easier when I was drunk most of the time.
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