Why does my neck still ache, 6 days later? Why does the shower head start dripping and never stop? Why haven’t I written a book, if all I can seem to do lately is sneer at predictable plots and weak character development?
Why are Hershey’s Kisses so irresistible to me?
Last night, no kidding, Eric asked me if I was going to get my hair cut, or “do something so that it doesn’t look like a tail.” I don’t know why I like to go so long between trims. Just tonight, I realized that my fingernails are completely lovely and at the perfect length. Still, I will not keep them this way. Next week, they will be too long, and I will bite them all off in one day. Or, maybe, I won’t.
I’m more like a poet than I must seem. I can’t be me, really, most of the time. I just sort of laugh along with everyone else, but I don’t think that they get the joke quite like I do. I’m being completely insincere because we have no common ground to stand on… get it? HA HA HA.
It’s not funny, really. It’s a travesty, this “fitting in” business. I never much wanted it. I preferred to be alone in my room, with a book. When Kristen’s older sister broke the shade in my room and told my mom that I did it, I learned that you can’t trust people. My suspicions were confirmed that one time, at Lisa’s house, when she told me that if I wanted to go to the bathroom I had to use the baby potty. It was a tiny wooden stand in the middle of the basement, barely big enough for a doll to sit on.
I walked three blocks back to my house, and peed down my leg after the first few steps. When I got home, I refused to tell my mother why I peed my pants, where I was, or anything else about my day.
A baby potty, indeed.