At FIVE??? I can’t keep them straight NOW.

When I was a child I was obsessed with my mother’s death. I would work myself up, entirely on purpose, into a frenzied, sobbing, snot ball, imagining her gone.

It happened all sorts of ways. I think now that it was my way of trying to prepare myself emotionally for the possibility of losing the only person standing between my father and me.

Who knows.

I didn’t hold procedurally accurate finger meetings in bed. I did read one to two novels a night, and compose sad songs about dead mothers.

I was a little weird.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store