"It’s amphibious. It’s sturdy. It will protect your oil spill relief team from terrorists. Narwhalphant. It’s awesome. Let’s build it. Let’s do it this weekend.” I practically dropped the mic and swaggered off the platform, confident in the fact that I had shown…well…confidence.

I’d just delivered a fake pitch based on a combination of two random words. I’ll let you piece together which.

I was at Startup Weekend and I was there to save myself from the impending unemployment crisis. I was there to turn my life around. Because I had an idea. I’d had it for a while, though I had to spend an all-nighter laying out the groundwork 

This was my time. Something, for once, had to go right.

For whatever reason, things in my life would not stop changing. New house. New employment status. Completely new ways to screw up interpersonal relationships. I even had a cat now.

It’s as if I didn’t know how to function if things weren’t in constant flux. I think I’m subconsciously making sure I never sit still, because if I do…when I do. That’s when the hammer will fall.

I was at Startup Weekend because I’d applied for one of the sponsored tickets on a whim. The day I found out I was going, I’d been in Roanoke, dabbling with the idea I’d pitched to my brother the week before.

I came home to get the phone call informing me that I’d been selected for a free ticket. I felt good. For a while. It seemed like I had a window of opportunity to save myself from the slow, consuming burn of jobless hell. But somehow discontent with the nice feeling of winning something, I proceeded to send a text.

“Hey, can we talk at some point tonight?”

Which. You know. Always ends well.

But that was two days before. Ancient history by startup timetables. And when I finally arrived to the event, almost a full hour after everybody else, I was a little confident. Because I had concept printouts. 

On photo paper.

So it came time to make my real pitch. Time to harness that inner confidence I was good at faking and convince people to join me in my little revolution. Time to change the world and make my millions. Because if I couldn’t find happiness the way most other people do, I could at least be rich and famous.

I stepped up to the stage. I pocketed my notes, because I didn’t need them. I saw the minute-timer start ticking. And I spoke.

“I’d like to tell you a story about my idea. An idea I call….Gwyb." 

Aw, fuck, I thought, as soon as the ridiculously stupid name spilled out of my mouth.